Blades of Chaos
by Gree
Summary: This is a tale of blood, terror and death. Of fallen angels come to take vengance. This is a tale of the Black Legion.
1. Hatred for Ten Thousand Years

**Author's Notes(Well this is the start of my stories for my main Chaos army, the Black Legion, I'm taking a break form writing my Claw's series to exercise my chaotic writing skills here)**

**Chapter One-Hatred for Ten Thousand Years**

* * *

**The planet Kul Guldar-Eye of Terror**

The man sat, alone, in the red-lit darkness of his chamber, quenching his sword in the blood of a fresh slave he had just slain so recently ago. He smiled in pleasure at the memory.

A cultist slave, brought in screaming and flailing, had been slain by him, right at the shrine of chaos, he slashed his throat open with a knife and poured the blood out on his blade, while the slave writhed on the alter to the Four Gods. He had appealed for Khorne to give him the hatred and strength to succeed, he appealed to Tzeentch to allow his plot to go smoothly, he appealed for Nurgle to give him fortitude, he appealed to Slaanesh to sharpen his senses with pain and pleasure.

Grendal Sartol looked around, making sure the blood flowed into the notches in his blade, intothe bright ceramite-polymer steel coating as he drew his power armored fingers across the silver hilt shaped like the eight-pointed star of chaos.

He was a tall marine. Clad in the black and gold armor of the Black Legion. A twisted series of crimson markings on one shoulderpad, proclaimed his allegiance to the Black Reapers sub-faction, while the unblinking Eye of Horus on the other showed his other allegiance. His armor was covered in various blades and spikes, all carefully sharpened. His armor trimmed gleamed dimply in the half-light, burnished and quenched with the blood of the dying slave.

Sartol's features where strong, clean cut and powerful looking, cast in the mold of his Primarch, Horus, his hair was a black-grey, despite his strong features of a man in his physical prime. Black tattoos covered his deathly pale skin. He wore the massive pelt of a chaos beast he had slain in the massive deserts outside the citadel Osgilath, he had hunted it himself with he bare hands and skinned the beast, feasting on it's mutated flesh as a show of strength to the warriors in his squad.

His room was simple, almost twenty meters long, it was divided into a sleeping area, a passageway leading to the training arenas, a large sacrificial shrine to chaos, and a place where he could maintain his weapons and armor. Sartol cast a look at the weapons wall, looking at the various bolters, pistols and various other weaponry on the wall, he inspected each one, nothing it's meticulously maintained features.

His eyes stepped to inspect a arcane combi-plasma, won in the sacking of the forge worlds of Resis IV. It had served him well for many, many years, such was the value of it that many tried to take it from him.

None succeeded.

He cast his gaze from the wall. He would not be using that today. Instead he looked out as the great doors to his chamber began to open slightly, letting in a crack of light into the inner sanctum of Grendal Sartol.

A scurrying, slave thing, swathed in a thick black robe, crawled in quickly, not daring to look directly on Sartol. Briefly the chaos champion chose to look up the mutated creature as it debased itself before him.

''Yes? I trust you have done as I asked,'' he said, his voice strong, but hard, like a jagged knife.

''Yes master,'' whimpered the shrill voice of the slave, who stole a nervous glance at the corpse of the other slave sacrificed to the Dark gods. ''I have done exactly as you asked Master, I saw him leaving.''

Sartol looked at him, absorbing the information. Then, slowly he nodded. ''Good, good.'' He got up, finished cleaning his swordblade, with admiration, he examined it carefully, noting the edge.

''Good news,'' he said cheerfully. The slave did not dare reply.

''I was planning to use this on you, to test it's blade, but I feel satisfied with both it's sharpness and your performance,'' he said, his voice cruel and hard. ''Therefore, you can go. Go spread the word you have the support of the Third Blade,'' he commanded.

''Y-Yes Master!'' he replied, in fear and ran out. Sartol laughed and walked out, fully pushing the doors, yellow eyes flashing with ambition as he smiled, revealing sharp, chiseled teeth.

The halls outside where crimson and moist. It had good reason to be, the entire hallways was lined with a substance that looked like rotten meat fused together, inside the meat messes protruded arms, legs and heads that writhed and stretched out. Sartol paid them no head, neither did he pay attention to the other chamber-cells that lines the vast hallways, he simply walked on and on to his destination, smiling al the way as he did so.

It was time.

* * *

**Throne Room of Lord Heru'ur- Osgilath- Kul Guldar**

The Osgilath stood, man miles into the sky, massive black and steel towers piercing as far as the eyes could see into the dead, rust colored skies of Kul Guldar's tainted and corrupted atmosphere. Kul Guldar was a daemon world claimed many years ago by Lord Heru'ur, of the Black Legion, who led his warband the, Black Reapers to this world, enslaving it's populace to build a mighty fortress to rule over.

Osgilath stretched dozens of miles in total, massive, barbed black towers concealing countless weapons systems. Upon each massive barbed spike was impaled a screaming slave.

The whole fortress had enough room to house the many thousands of the Black Reapers sub-factions of the Black Legion, along with the Reapers allies and massive populations of slave-cultists. Outside, lay a huge, sprawling city, extending for countless miles, here, in those dilapidated and horrific streets, came millions of more cultists who worshipped and died for the Dark Gods.

Daemons walked openly, making sport of those who dared cross them. Bloodletters talked the vast wastes, slaying all that crossed them, while Daemonettes pirouetted in the streets, looking for the crimson spray of death.

From all of this, ruled Heru'ur, Daemonseye Lord of Chaos, former Captain of the Luna Wolves 27th Company, Chosen of Abbadon the Despoiler, the Knight Slayer, the Soultaker, the Blood Marshal, the Black Reaver.

He sat, mighty on his throne of gleaming black iron and spikes. The back of the throne was fashioned to resemble a mighty daemon, with great black wings and a fearsome, fang-filled head that encompassed to whole throne. He was huge, he sat upon the great throne as it fit would barely fit him, a huge pelt of wolf fur and chianmail huge from his massive shoulders. The Eye of Horus was carved into one shoulder guard of his Terminator armor, the twisted crimson markings on another.

He had his great, horned helmet by his side, the crowns golden and twisting up from the sides, to resemble the crown of some ancient king, a large red marking ran over his left eye, mimicking his real one. His features where, strong, and harsh, also cast in the mold of Horus, the Primarch of the Luna Wolves, but his features where scarred and pitted heavily, he was bald. But his most favored feature was his eye.

His left eye was a glowing red orb, a daemonic transplant that contrasted with one flinty grey one that stared out with ancient malice and wisdom. The daemonic eye glowed faintly. Long ago he had lost this eye, instead of a normal transplant or a bionic replacement. He had ordered his Chirumeks to replace it with an eye cut from a daemon, reconstructing his left eye areas and his cheekbones into daemonic flesh.

Lying next to his throne was a massive axe, looking like it was carved out of blood-tinged metal. This was Dran'Caroth'id, the Great Guillotine, the daemon axe of which the spirit of an ancient greater daemon was bound millennia ago.

Looking at him, one felt a palpable aura of fear and power. For even a battle hardened Chaos marine, simply looking at him made one's head feel nauseous and made despair grip the soul. That was one of the many daemonic gifts he had received over the millennia.

Four great black armored Terminators surrounded him, all heavily armed and guarding every angle of attack. They where the Executors, the elite bodyguard warband of the Black Reapers, Heru'ur's personal warband.

The entire chamber was vast, twenty meters long and thirty meters wide. It was made of black-veined marble and dark iron pillars, giving the whole area a cold, regal look that suited it's lord. A set of several massive windows, rimmed with spikes, lined one side of the chamber, revealing the drop below, revealing the city hundreds of meters below and the vast black deserts beyond.

At the other side was a row upon row of black spikes, each was mounted the head of a enemy warrior that Heru'ur felt particularly worthy, some of them where now preserved in stasis fields, hailing back to the time of the Great Heresy.

A dozen spikes were colored silver. On these where the heads of Imperial assassins, many had tried to kill Heru'ur over the millennia, none had succeeded. Heru'ur mounted only the heads of those who had came the closest to killing him. They all were there. Eversor, Culexus, Vindicare, and Callidus.

Then the doors at the end of the hall, great, black iron doors, opened. And the champions of Chaos entered.

First to come was Ashram Nightshroud, Sorcerer of the Black Legion, he wore black armor, as common of the rest of the warband, his features where cold and handsome, with slicked back black hair and a single, glowing purple eye in the middle of his forehead. He was covered n grey-black robes, in one hand he held a horned, bronzed staff, with a single golden eye, that excitedly blinked and shifted constantly like a living object. A product of the powers of Chaos. Under the other arm he carried a tall, bladed helmet.

Ashram's face portrayed no emotion at all as he coolly knelt before the throne. He was the Second Blade of the Black Reapers, leading his own Black company in service of the warband.

Next was Koramak, the squat, powerful marine in terminator armor. Heru'ur's old warhorse. The right side of his face was made up entirely of bionics, his right eye glowing green.

Millennia of hard-fought combat and grievous injuries had left almost half his body to be made up of bionic implants devised by the Churimeks and the Dark Mechanicus's best adepts His left side of his face, and his remaining organic body parts, where covered in layers of scars and weathered to the color of a dull grey. This, combined with his craggy, serious features, gave him the appearance of granite.

This was the First Blade, and one of the few that Heru'ur completely trusted. This was not one to be trifled with.

Then came the loud, harsh footsteps of an impatient man. The massive, hulking, red and crimson form of Garlok Jaggerjaq stopped into the throne room. He was a massive bear of a marine, standing almost a full head taller than any except Heru'ur.

He was a devotee of Khorne, a former assault captain who had long since converted to the powers of the Blood God. Long ago he himself recruited several of the Berzerker Surgeons who transformed the World Eaters into ravening killers, and had it performed with himself and his followers. His whole posture, although mostly silent, was full of hidden violence, and the promise of death. His red and black armor was heavily trimmed with gold and burnished skulls embossed into the guards of his MIV plate.

His helmet was fashioned into a form of a grinning skull, with great golden horns rising above the sides, fashioned in the image of Khorne's icon. He too carried an axe, but his was a great double headed juggernaut. He wore a massive fur pelt just like Heru'ur.

Form his backpack rose several large spikes where heads where impaled, the head of Warboss Gharlag, the head of Captain Estial of the Sons of Guilliman chapter, the head of a genestealer patriarch, slain only recently. These were only some of his massive collection of skulls, these were most recent skulls taken, Garlok had an entire hallway full of polished and mounted skulls to pay tribute to his god Khorne.

His commanded the chief assault company of the Black Reapers, his ranks containing many former World Eaters who had joined, they where rightly feared as the best assault specialists in the warband.

He was the Fourth Blade.

A large, black armored figure came. A stink issued from him. A bloated, filth covered figure who carried his gas mask like helmet under one arm. One shoulder guard bore the sigh of Nurgle, the other the Eye of Horus. His face was rotten and skeletal, covered in opened, festering wounds, just like the rest of his body. Parstus Majorius, the Seventh Blade, always smiled through thin dead lips. He had a perpetually jovial and good humored face.

He took joy in everything, unusual for any Chaos marine, but not of the Nurglites. As a worshiper of Nurgle he was blessed with countless plagues, until his body bloated and rotted to the point where he was incredibly tough, even by a space marine's standards.

A follower of Nurgle took bleak joy in all things, for they had already accepted that everything would eventually rot and be reborn again in disease. Grandfather Nurgle loved his children, and so did Parstus.

Then, the Third Blade came.

Tarmak, was of medium height, not especially unique for a Chaos marine, except for the ridge-like growths of his head. That extended over his forehead and bald scalp, his face was twisted and bestial.

Tarmak the Prideful, they called him. He embodied the very essence of the self-aggrandizing need to be strong among the Chaos marines, he demanded total obedience among his company.

He carried a power scimitar and wore a chainmail loincloth, his armor was embossed heavily with silver so that it shown brightly over his pauldrons and greaves, his blue eyes burning with intelligence.

Behind them came the Fifth Blade. Ferual Delgro, the Fleshmaster, skittered on his insectoid legs, his perpetually masked face stating out as the multiple tentacle arms flexed on his back.

Delgro was a former Apothecary in the 27th company, unique and skilled. But when the Heresy came he joined many other traitor apothecaries in the study of Fabius Bile. When he returned he was only the Fleshmaster now.

He was in charge of healing the warbands wounded and implanting new geneseed into new chaos marines, either from the dead Black Legionaries or from captured loyalist geneseed stocks. He was also the closest thing the Black Reapers had to a mad scientist.

Then came Darged Tomand, he was a former Techmarine, who had long since infected himself with the Obliterator virus and allied himself with the Dark Mechanicus.

He was neither man, nor machine, but a techno-organic mix of both, shrouded in a cloak the color of dried blood, he moved without a word into his assigned place. He was the Sixth Blade

They had all come, all knelt before Heru'ur, the Eighth Blade of Chaos.

''I have summoned you here for a purpose.'' Heru'ur's voice was deep and baritone, serious and commanding, all of his champions felt a shiver of fear pass through their spines.

''Ashram?'' he turned his head to the Sorcerer who got up and bowed. ''I have recently informed Lord Heru'ur of a vision I have seen, an important vision,'' he explained.

''What kind of vision?'' Koramak rumbled.

''Yes, Sorcerer,'' Garlok spot out, glaring at him behind his skull mask. ''I would dearly like to know that,''

Ashram coolly ignored him. ''I have seen the Gate, hidden on a planet far from here, on a world called Jarnus IV, that place holds the key to empowering our lord Obscuras,'' he said, naming the Daemon Prince that the Black Reapers served.

''The Gate? What is that?'' Tarmak questioned.

''An artifact, it will unlock the boundaries of the warp even when far from the eye, the very form of the Gate pleases the Gods, it makes sacrifices that would number in the thousands, number in the dozens, making concentration of warp energy easier,'' he explained.

All went quiet at this sort of information. ''And where did you say this was?'' Tarmak asked.

''Jarnus IV, but I have seen something else in this vision,'' he said.

''Well what is it?'' demanded Tarmak.

''The Golden Child, a babe, with skin of gold and eyes of fire, in a field of blood, opening the Gate, I have foreseen this,'' Ashram explained.

Tarmak glowered at him. ''Golden Child? What sort of nonsense are you babbling abou-'' His words where cut off as the doors where kicked in.

The form of Sartol emerged, holding his sword, smirking in triumph. ''It's time for you to die, Tarmak the Prideful'' he proclaimed, pointing his blade at Tarmak, as he shot to his feet.

Tarmak drew his blade.''What is the meaning of this Sartol?''

''Don't insult our collective intelligences my lord,'' he rang out the last part mockingly. Sartol stepped closer, continuing. ''I'm obviously challenging you for leadership of the Third Company,'' he snarled.

''Oh, a fight, this should be entertaining,'' Parstus said in an amused tone. Garlok was silent.

''Of all the audacity, you do it here?'' rumbled Koramak, glaring at him.

''Silence old man! I handle my own affairs,'' Tarmak shot back.

''For how long you live,'' replied Sartol as he prepared to leap. ''You don't have your lackeys here Tarmak! You can't run here!''

Ashram observed the exchange silently and turned to his lord.''Lord Heru'ur?'' he asked. The great chaos warlord simply observed them both.

''Clear the area, the challenge may be issued anywhere at anytime outside of battle'' he said simply.

''Blades only'' he commanded.

The rest of the Chaos champions fell back as the blades clashed.

Sartol attacked with fury, ringing a flurry of blows, turning the activation switch on his sword, wreathing it in a reddish-purple aura as Tarmak did the same for his own blade, causing sparks to fly from the two fields as they clashed.

Tarmak then attempted to kick him away, but Sartol was ready for that, leaping back with a smirk on his face, snarling, Tarmak sidestepped a return thrust and brought his sword around for a decapitation strike. Leaning back, the tip of the blade cut a shallow wound, arcing across Sartol's nose and cheek, a thin line of blood appeared before the wound was almost instantly clotted by his Larraman cells.

Leaping back Sartol dove inward, launching with a single great strike that sent Tarmak skidding back, snarling Tarmak brought this head back and smashed it into Sartol, causing them to stagger forward as he rained a series of blows upon the challenger's blade.

Sartol caught the blade arm of the older chaos champion, then he brought his own sword around to lop off the arm, but Tarmak twisted free at the last moment, the blade gouging a massive has in one shoulder guard, drawing blood briefly before it too closed up.. Tarmak snarled at the slight, more concerned at the insult than any pain, before lashing out, kicking Sartol back again, and leaping at him, scimitar held at ready, striking at the challenger's left side.

Rapidly Sartol detected the danger, eyes widening, he responded by rapidly switching his sword to his other arm, blocking the blade there, but Tarmak snarled, pressing on as Sartol's sword gave way and his own connected home.

Sartol's arm was severed below the elbow, the arm falling to the ground as red-black blood was staunched by more Larraman cells, Tarmak's triumph was short lived as Sartol leapt forwards inside his guard. A combat knife appeared in his right arm, from where he had withdrawn in and he slammed it into the side of the Third Blade's head with all his strength, penetrating the skull.

Snarling he wretched it out and stabbed in again, and again, until Tarmak's head was little more than a mutilated pulp.

''Enough'' came Heru'ur's voice. Sartol froze, letting the corpse fall.

''You have killed him'' He said simply. ''Therefore, you are now the Third Blade'' he announced. Sartol felt his twin hearts beat in joy and excitement over the death of his hated rival.

''But'' then a massive feeling a nausea and despair coursed through Sartol's body, driving him to the ground in shock at Heru'ur's power. ''You will not interrupt my council so blatantly again, is that clear Third Blade?'' Heru'ur spoke.

''Y-Yes sire'' he forced out, choking at the immense feeling of despair that forced itself into his soul. Then the feeling stopped and he groggily got back to his feet.

''Delgro, have your Chirumeks repair his arm'' Heru'ur looked at Sartol. ''It speaks well that you would sacrifice your arm simply to gain victory, I will need such men in the coming battles,'' he explained.

''I am honored my lord'' Sartol grinned. He had finally gotten a Grand Company of his own. Feelings of sweet vengeance on the arrogant Tarmak and his own cruel satisfaction coursed through his body.

''Now Ashram, explain to him again your vision''

* * *

**The Barrack Halls of the Third Black Company-Osgilath**

Over two hundred Astartes filled the room. It was the Third Company's briefing hall, almost a hundred meters in diameter, it was incalculably vast. They all stood facing a large pedestal where Sartol stood proudly.

The stood each in their own squads and cult groups. Larmath stood with over fifty Khorne Berzerkers, their armor painted red and black, he carried his crimson helmet under one arm, brass recurve horns spouting out from the sides. His face was strong and brutal. Sartol had sought him out, they had been neophytes together in the Luna Wolves legion, before the Heresy, one of the last members of the scout auxiliary inducted when Horus had turned against the False Emperor.

Dtar stood, with almost thirty Plague marines, calm as ever. He and his men stood further away from the rest of the Grand Company, due to their stench and odor. Dtar was one of the first to turn to Nurgle, out of the despair of Horus's death. He now commanded the Nurgleite worshipers of the Grand Company, he was another one his supporters.

Then came Arenio Areli, the former Thousand Son, now commanding the Third's own cabal of sorcerers, only he and four of his apprentices where present, the rest of his command where automatons that where stored away.

Then where Visis, the raptor champion, standing there, sleek armor gleaming and lighting claws retracted, the commander of the jump-pack assault Raptors of the company.

Then was Vegor, one of his most fervent supports, commanding his own squad, the Skullrenders. He stood, clam, scanning the crown with paranoia, the others where there too.

Reftor, Brackurt, Krazzin, and then Torgoth, the formerly designated successor of Tarmak glowered at him, his serpentine features, barely concealing his hostility to his new commander.

And finally, Morgord the leader of the Possessed was there, his cold handsome features taking in as much information as he could, for a second his features seemed to warp into a fearsome daemonic mask, but then it would pass, only his cold visage could be seen.

Vastak, his second on command of his squad of Chosen veterans, stepped back to allow Sartol access to the platform.

''Brothers!'' he announced, standing underneath a massive carving on an eight-pointed star The entire room was constructed out of the same grey marble, threaded with gold as Heru'ur's throne room.

He help up the bloodied and pulped head of Tarmak. ''Your old leader is dead! I killed him in fair combat'' he threw it away. ''Let his name be forgotten'' he commanded, a look of triumph on his face

No one particularly liked Tarmak, domineering and arrogant to the extreme, he had offended many in the Grand Company, Sartol had long since searched for an opportunity to betray him.

Sartol looked at his left arm and flexed in, hidden beneath his armor was a black bionic limb that appeared to be made out of some insectiod, glossy armor over the muscle-like gears. His new daemonic, techno-organic arm felt as perfectly natural of his old arm, which he had been unable to reattach because of the butchered nerves from Tarmak's power sword. He felt no sorrow over it' s lost when he had archived this kind of victory.

''Hail Sartol the Third Blade!!'' someone in the crowd start. Arenio followed, along with Vegor close being, slowly the rest of the Grand Company joined in, Torgoth the last and most reluctantly.

Sartol basked in the praise for several minutes, letting it stroke his ego. He felt cold, cruel satisfaction creep upon him once again. He banished it. He held a hand

'Enough'' slowly the chanting stopped, his brow furrowed. He wasn't as good at Heru'ur at getting people to shut up, but it was a start, he though as he mentally shrugged.

''Larmath!'' he shouted. ''Tarmak degraded your skills! Has he not referred to you as bloodthirsty dogs?'' a roar of affirmation answered him. Sartol smiled, this was too easy.

''Then you will be my hounds of war, I want you to be the first tear the throats of the enemy out!'' he replied back, appealing to their warrior pride. ''There is no other I want killing, don't make me walk a battlefield that is not paved with the blood of your enemies!''

He heard roars of affirmation.

''Dtar, you where shunned by Tarmak for your worship of Nurgle! No more!, you will spread your plagues among the weakling followers of the False Emperor as you please'' he continued.

Dtar gave him an acknowledging nod but made no other gesture. He mentally frowned, clearly, even after countless centuries Dtar was not going to be coming out of shell anytime soon.

''And Arenio! You will have vengeance for your home planet, no longer will you be forced to tell portents of every whim of Tarmak's! I give you freedom!'' he proclaimed. Arenio began to clap in response.

''Vegor! Reftor! Brackurt! Krazzin! Torgoth! Visis! Morgord!'' he said naming the senior sergeant-champions . ''For ten thousand years I have fought with you! Under various Champions since the Heresy!''

''I was there, at Isvtaan with Lord Horus! I was there at Davin where the primarch was reborn! I was there at Yardant with Lord Abbadon! I was there at Terra besieging the False Emperor!'' he shouted.

''I was there with you through it all! Tarmak bickered and played politics, instead of continuing the holy slaughter in the name of the gods. Before you where like wolves led by a sheep, now one of your own wolves has come to lead the pack'' he announced.

There was redounding cheers. ''You are returned! I have returned you like Lord Abbadon did for us all! He gave us everything! I cannot promise as much as he can, but I can promise you this'' he took a breath.

''I will promise you blood, vengeance and glory against the weakling Imperium of Man! Against the brutish ork! The decadent elder! The Ravenous Tyranid! The naive Tau! The accused Necrons! I promise you that!''

''WE ARE RETUREND!'' the chanting continued.

* * *

**High Orbit over Kul Guldar**

Over the orbit of Kul Guldar the _Black Bane_ hung, the massive battleship, a precursor of the later Despoiler- class battleship, carried Heru'ur's Executors and Karomak's first grand company along with Ashram's warriors.

A massive fleet of various chaos warships, numbering a dozen and a half ships, hung, laden with warriors of chaos and their equipment. They where in the void like blood red daggers.

The _Hammer of Damnation, _Sartol's ship, hung beside the _Black Bane_, in it carried the entire Third Grand Company of the warband, over two hundred marines and their equipment, along with twenty thousand cultists.

The entire army of the Black Reapers, almost fifteen hundred Astartes and well over a hundred thousand cultist-slaves, now lay sequestered aboard their ships. Sacrifices to the gods where made up captive to anoint the new journey in blood, the sorcerers had read the portents and sighs, and saw that they where indeed good.

Aboard the command room of the _Black Bane_. Heru'ur Daemonsneye, lord of the Black Legion, gazed pitilessly into the void, his mismatched eyes blazing with cold, reserved hatred.

He cast his gaze over the bridge. A combination of command center and throne room for him. Heru'ur himself, although competent at navel warfare, had no great joy for it.

Therefore, Marcinus Caltran, a traitor commodore of the Imperial navy, now one that served Chaos, captained his vessel, the latest in a long, lone line of commanders.

Heru'ur looked into the void again. He spoke only a single word.

''Execute''

With a tear in reality, the fleet moved off into the warp breach, out into destiny.


	2. Bloodfallen

**(Author's Notes: This is progressing quicker than I expected, oh well. It's good news anyway. To those who reviewed, I am pleasantly surprised and grateful for your feedback, more feedback on the continuing plot development would be good.)**

**And thanks to TheLoneHunter for giving me permisson for use of the Blackshield.**

* * *

**Chapter Two-Bloodfallen**

**Jarnus IV-Talian West**

Colonel Wyder sighed as he took his midday walk on the long walkways that bordered the living barracks, watching the dull sun of Jarnus IV shine down upon the flat grey expanse of Talian West Spaceport. This was such an insult, posted to a simple mining world far in the Segmentum Tempestus. He and his regiment had fought highly in the Waluf wars against the greenskin, losing hundreds of brave souls, but acquitting themselves with bravery.

He, and the rest of the 37th Mortant had been s proud to receive an official commendation by the Lord General himself, and then crushed, to be assigned to Jarnus IV, a peaceful world with the closest thing to conflict was the local miner riots.

He had no idea who four regiments of His Majesty's Imperial Guard had been assigned, the 37th, along with the 184th Cadian, the 55th Cadian armored and the 393rd Vahallan.

Jarnus was a small world by Imperial standards, with a measly population of only fifteen million, the PDF themselves numbered barely a hundred and fifty thousand. It boggled his mind that veteran regiments where on it, along with a local Fortress-Chapel of the Sororitas.

He cast his eyes over Talian West. The spaceport was the only means of mass orbital transportation on and off Jarnus. He and the rest of the Guard had arrived there, almost two years ago. Talian was little more than a massive set of space facilities and a few orbital defense lasers, surrounded by living quarters for the workers who operated the facilities and the nearby mag-rails that transported ore from the planet's mines.

The biggest Imperial presence here was the few Administratum halls and several local chapels, along with the 37th's living barracks and a few local entertainment establishments.

In all it was not much.

There was not much to do outside of the spaceport. Outside of the cities , Wyder snorted, calling Talian a city was almost an insult, there was nothing but mining villages and towns.

The land of Jarnus IV was in the middle of a transforming, once a verdant forest worlds, the Imperial arrival six centuries ago had transformed into a wasteland-dotted world. The rivers where soaked with refuse and carbon, to the point where no man could drink from the river, on occasion patches of deadened trees and healthy plant life still stubbornly existed along with the ash-covered wastes.

Wyder snorted, it was a real hellhole out here. He doubted it could get much worse than this.

* * *

**Jarnus IV-High orbit**

The chaos fleet ripped a way into reality two days ago, at the edge of the system, outside planetary sensor range of the orbital augers of Jarnus IV. Moving cautiously they advanced on the dark side of the planetary system.

Aboard his ships, Heru'ur's sorcerers cast a variety of spells to cloak the advance of the Chaos fleet, making them sensible to ground-based augers. Hundreds of slaves where sacrificed in the holds to power the spell.

Arenio, aboard the _Hammer of Damnation_, had performed the ritual for Sartol, even as the deepest holds of the ship ran red with an ocean of crimson, Sartol himself and his warriors where preparing for the assault. Arenio, assured him that, while they could freely scan the planet at will. They could not be scanned in return, however, he warned, such protection would be short lived once they launched an assault.

Sartol did not care, he had only one chance at this, and one chance was all he needed. Ordering the _Hammer_'s slave crew to scan the planet with long-rang augers he wanted. He did not have to wait long, results came back from both the _Hammer_'s augers and the other ships. Rapidly he received instructions from a transmission straight from the _Black Bane_.

The primary assault was to be the spaceport, for three purposes. One, to deny the Imperials reinforcements from orbit, two, capture it so that the own cultist army of the Black Legion could be safely landed. And the last was to take out the defense lasers. From what the Chaos fleet had been able to gather, there where only two places that had any real anti-orbital defense, the spaceport and the capital.

And the capital was protected by a powerful void shield. Only a ground assault could be made now. So the first military target was the spaceport. Heru'ur chose Sartol, Garlok and Ashram to deploy.

In the chaos champion' s opinion, three grand companies on a single, moderately defended spaceport was overkill, but in the end he did not really care. There would be death and glory regardless. His entire company was prepared within the hour, weapons cleaned and consecrated, armor locked into place, war rites performed, and the Dreadclaw assault pods moved into position.

The clock hit zero hour.

No orbital bombardments where launched, the fleet could not afford to damage the space facilities too badly before they where able to be captured, only Deathstorm drop pods where authorized by Heru'ur.

The _Hammer of Damnation_ and the _Bloodclaw_, Garlok's flagship, moved into low orbit along with the _Black Bane_, carefully plotting the trajectory arcs, the ship's daemonic logic-engines fed the information into the malevolent machine spirits of the Dreadclaws and Deathstorms. With a wide spread wave, the drop pods fell through the atmosphere, seeking the target, some of them fell off course around the city, others hit the defensive trenches dug around Talian.

But most hit the spaceport, the Deathstorms landing with thunderous thuds and blast doors opening, to reveal banks of autoguns and missile launchers, that opened fire throughout the main facilities and living space. Hundreds of civilians and Guardsmen where shredded in the torrent of firepower, cut down before they could react. The drop pods continued to fire until they ran out of ammunition in their holds.

When they fell silent the spaceport as transformed into a scene of devastation. Wyder, inside his officer' s mess preparing to eaat supper, was still alive, unlike many of his officers and troopers. Rapidly, he hauled off the nearest surviving Guardsmen and headed towards the Talian armory, activating the spaceport alert system, rousing the surviving guardsmen as fast as he could.

Out of the originally eleven thousand strong garrison of the spaceport, five thousand Mortant and six thousand Jarnusian PDF, where cut down to a mere seven thousand by the drop pods. The civilian casualties where uncounted.

As the alarms rang out, and Guardsmen rushed out of their barracks and bunkers to man the trenches and gun positions, the first Dreadclaws where already arriving from the skies.

* * *

**Garlok's Group**

Garlok's Dreadclaws landed far more gracefully than the earlier Deathstorms, the assault pods disgorging their holds full of Khornate chaos marines and Berzerkers into the wrecked spaceport. Unlike the drop pods that the loyalists used, the older Dreadclaws had an access hatch at the lower end, allowing their occupants to move with the protection of the lower blast shields against enemy fire.

But not that the Black Legionaries needed it.

Garlok dropped down at full run, his personal guard of elite, chosen Berzerkers, with gold trimmed chainaxes, followed him as he thumbed the activation switch on his power axe, coving it in a red aura. His bolter, in his other hand, blew the forms of several dozen Guardsmen to pieces as he scanned the area. His drop pod had landed behind a heavy bolter gun nest that was being hastily set up to combat the Deathstorms.

Over thirty guardsmen whirled around in horror and surprise. Bolt pistol fire blew several of them apart, as Garlok felt the Red come over him, in two great strides he was upon them as blue las bolts began to lance out. Decapitating a Guardmen in a single sudden strike, three more Guardsmen where simply cloven in half in single swings form the huge Black Legionary as he moved with eye-blurring speed.

''BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!'' he howled as his Berzerkers dove in, massacring the Guard platoon.

All around him, for the next mile, his grand company slaughtered the Guardsmen who had come up to destroy the Deathstorms, caught and overextended, the Guard fell back desperately, screaming captains and lieutenants struggling to form a defensive line.

A gaggle of PDF tankers, ran from their barracks to the Leman Russ hanger, if they got to those war machines then they could turn the tide against the Chaos Berzerkers who had dropped in like a storm. They never go there, a squad of chaos marines gunned them down and then set fire to the vehicle hanger planting melta bombs to the vehicles as they did so, rending them useless.

Other Berzerker squads spread out, in the tight hallways and corridors of the spaceport facilities, they had a field day, their vastly superior close combat skills serving them well. Realizing this, Wyder, ordered his men out in the open, to fight there as much as they could.

* * *

**Sartol's Group**

Sartol muttered the last of his prayers to the Four, asking for the aid of each, swearing his devotion and listing his deeds as the seconds counted down from the chronometer in time with the rumbling that filled the Dreadclaw as it plummeted down. He appealed to each of the four gods. But most of all he appealed to Khorne, he and his warriors in his squad where followers of Chaos Undivided, meaning they did not worship any power over another, consistently.

Consistently being the key word.

They worshipped each as facts of the greater power that was Chaos. When they entered battle, they gave blood sacrifice to Khorne, removing their gauntlets and slashing their palms, offering the blood in a liquid container in front of the Blood God's shrine. Although all where worshipped equally, it was at different times, and now battle, the time for full out war, was the moment to beseech Khorne, promising him skulls and souls in his name when they spilled blood.

When the drop pod hit Sartol was first out, helmeted, his horned, devil-visored mask firmly in place, red eye slits glowing as he and his squad of nine other chosen veterans of the Black Legion came out. They had landed over thirty meters away from the trench line. In the distance he could see the drop pods of Larmath's Berzerkers land behind the Guard defenses and among the rear staging areas.

His thing, cruel mouth curved into a smile. Lucky dog, Larmath was, a lucky war dog indeed. Next to is own pod, several meters ahead, landed Vejor's Dreadclaw and his squad, which was under fire from a autocannon battery.

Two chaos marines where cut down under the cavalcade of heavy shells., another lost a leg and toppled over as Vejor bellowed commands to advance and open fire. Across the trench line other las-rounds and heavy weapons fire where coming in at the emerging chaos marines. Sartol dove forward, squad following him. ''Open fire at that'' he commanded, sending several shots at the autocannon emplacement with his bolter as his squad obeyed instantly.

Two Guardsmen, manning one of the autocannons where slain by Sartol's shots, blown to pink mist that clouded the enclosed emplacement, then the autocannon fire immediately slackened.

''That's another favor Vejor'' he came in over the vox as the other chaos champion merely nodded in return, charging forwards as one of his chaos marines hurled grenades at the Guardsmen, who ducked behind the parapets. Sartol followed.

Dtar's plague marines where also advancing steadily. Dtar sighing as he took in the pleasant (to him) sensation of the polluted, dusty air, taking in the subtle toxins caused by centuries of pollution. He and his plague marines where walking through a storm of lasfire and heavy weapons rounds with ease, shrugging off wounds that would have killed or crippled even a normal Astartes.

One of his plague marines grabbed a shrunken head from his belt and threw it into the trenches, where it exploded in a sickly purple gas. Choked, horrified screams sounded briefly before that section fell silent.

Behind them, Kesrok, his Havoc-champion, was bellowing orders for the grand company's Havocs to form up, bellowing out targeting orders for various PDF bunkers across the line.

A trio of las rounds hit Sartol in the chest as he closed the lest several meters to the trench, hurling grenades as he went. He was pleased to find the Guardsmen shooting at his chest. Just as he thought, these where new conscripts, hardly a challenge at all. A normal human, when trained to shoot, often shot at the chest or largest parts of the body, this was an instinctive psychological reaction.

Most human militaries trained their soldiers to do this, as normally shooting one in the chest was both easy and normally fatal to most beings. However this worked poorly against Astartes. The chest and shoulder guards of power armor, while being the largest parts of the armor, where also the thickest, several lasguns shooting there would not do much to the armor, as opposed to a joint or one of the limb pieces.

Not like the Cadians, not like the Cadians who Sartol fought for centuries in Lord Abbadon's Black Crusades, they where warriors of fire and steel, these so called Guardsmen where just lambs to the slaughter.

He reached the trench, dropping in, his power armored bulk crushing a Guardsmen, puling him into a red mess, decorating his greaves with a wash of crimson fluid as he shot his bolter point blank, shredding two Guardsmen. Lasfire stabbed at him point blank, but for only briefly, Sartol laughed at the terrified faces of the Guardsmen as he crashed into another, crushing his skull with a single blow and beheading two more with quick strikes. His sword fell again, and again, cutting down Guardsman after Guardsmen as he ran along with wide trench, about five meters wide, he guessed, his squad dropping behind him.

''Spread out, take out the bunkers, no mercy, no prisoners, we don't have time for slaves'' Sartol ordered as a trio of frag grenades was hurled his way as he crossed a corner leading to the rear trenches.

He leapt back as it exploded, sending shrapnel at him. His power armor protected him form most of the impact as he shielded his face instinctively. Two bits took him in the knee and another in his armpit. Angrily he ripped both of them out, after casting aside his bolter for a free hand. Then he stopped the forms of a half-dozen Guardsmen who did it, now firing at his wounds. Sartol grinned, they where learning.

He leapt back, unable to retrieve his bolter, as the lasrounds blew away small chunks of ceramite from his joints areas. Pain lanced through his body briefly, but it was nothing compared to willingly losing his own arm.

Two of his marines came up, Sartol gave a short bark and they headed around the corner, bolters opening fire, shredding the Guardsmen as Sartol took the opportunity to dive forward with a cackle and retrieved his bolter. Putting it away, he took out his bolt pistol, and shot a fleeing Guardsmen dead as he, and four others headed down the trench, killing all that they could, transforming the place into abattoir of death.

In the close quarters of the trenches, a chaos marine was equal to a dozen Guardsmen in the kind of close combat, Sartol and his squad of Chosen veterans doubly so. Now they where among the enemy, who stood no chance. If it was a long range duel then things would be different, but here, the Guardsmen had lost both the advantage of numbers and firepower, on occasion the Guard would overwhelm a Chaos marine or get lucky, but they where well out of their element here.

But the only thing Sartol cared about now was the slaughter.

''Move out! The defense laser is three hundred meters to the north!'' Sartol commanded.

''Finish this group, take out the rear area trenches and move on!'' he repeated as he spotted the form of an Imperial Guard officer charge out from the corner of his eye.

He let the chainsword the man carried, to deflect off his shoulder guard, gouging away a chunk of armor. The chaos champion did this deliberately, to see the fear in the officer's eyes. Then he gutted him with his own blade before shooting him with his bolt pistol point blank, blowing off the officer in a shower of blood, casing the mangled and eviscerated corpse to hit the ground with a dull and meaty thud.

There was no sweeter sound to Sartol's ears.

* * *

**Command Bunker, to the Rear**

A Berzerker howled as he decapitated another Guardsmen, diving forward to hit another in a shoulder charge, crushing his chest cavity with a single massive blow, another strike cut a terrified Guardsmen in half at the waist. He and two others rampaged down the rear trenches, staging areas where troops could be funneled to the front properly. He was part of Larmath's Berzerker squads who had dropped into the rear.

At the end of the trench, he kicked open a bunker and entered, shooting the first Guardsman he saw, blowing a massive hole in the torso of the human as he turned to meet him. Then a melta beam blew off the upper half of his body, another Berzerker that entered lost his arm to a melta beam, turning armor and ceramite to slag, as a third was shot by over a dozen lasbeams.

Wyder and over a dozen Guardsmen had been waiting. ''Now!'' Wyder yelled, diving forward as the one-armed Berzerker came to meet him, chainsword and chainaxe clashed together as the remaining Berzerker was blown away with a melta shot. Wyder's bones jarred as he fought against the enraged Berzerker, who was still a potent foe despite the loss of his arm. But his soldiers came to his rescue, firing lasrounds at the highest setting into the Chaos's marine's back armor joints.

With a final groan the Berzerker collapsed under that barrage and Wyder beheaded him with a two handed stroke. Panting, the Mortant colonel set the chainsword down, spitting at the corpse.

''Where the hell did they come from sir?'' one of his meltagunners asked.

Wyder shrugged. ''Dammed if I know'' then a grenade landed in the open doors. A Guardsman rushed to throw it back out, then a bolt round blew his head off, the grenade dropped from his nerveless fingers and went off. Five Guardsmen who blown to pieces, and Wyder was thrown back hard against the concrete wall of the bunker as the huge shape of Larmath swept in, opening fire with his bolt pistol.

Larmath was in the Red, he could almost feel the beating of his enemies hearts, he could feel every part of his body consumed in the holy rage, every part of his mind, gearing itself to kill the enemy. Many called this state mindless, many fools who witnessed saw a reckless warrior with no regard for his well-being, or any of his allies. Larmath knew well that they were fools.

In the Red, everything was so clear, he noted the arrival of shells, the positioning of lasguns, they simply did not bother him, his body would already be reacting as he focused everything into killing the enemy. That was the Red, to engulf oneself in a sense of total rage, and then controlling that rage to lash out at the enemy, allowing to become one with his god Khorne, and yet not lose himself and become a ravening beast.

The Red was to experience every spray of blood, every terrified feature, every once of hatred within ones body, and to shape it as a weapon to strike outwards form the warriors soul. A measure of Khorne's own fury. Larmath moved forward in the Red, recognizing the meltagun troopers as the first that would have to die, one was tumbling about, an arm mangled by the shrapnel from the frag grenade.

He decapitated him and shot the other meltagunner point blank, blowing out his chest cavity, the last five Guardsmen raised their lasguns to fire at him, but it was too late, even as they did so Larmath was upon him, unnatural speed coursing through him as a result of the Red. His power axe fell down and down, splitting torsos and carving through brainpans, in two seconds all the Guardsmen where dead.

He then whirled around to block a chainsword strike by Wyder before counterattacking with a flurry of blows at the Colonel, that would have seen a lesser swordsman dismembered on the ground. Larmath looked into the sweating, crimson face of Wyder as he struggled.

''Impressive'' he forced out of his vox unit. To match me like that'' Larmath said.

''But now it ends''

He activated his switch. A crimson aura engulfed his axe and the blade sliced through the chainsword and took off the surprised Colonel's head in a single strike. The head hit the round softly with a thump.

Larmath picked it up and impaled it on a trophy rack mounted on his armor.

''Blood of the Blood God'' he said simply, exiting the trench.

* * *

**Sartol's Company-Second Line Trenches**

Sartol rounded the corner after tossing several grenades about, the screams of the Guardsmen and the thumps of dead bodies ringing sweetly in his ears, his power sword hacking through the bodies of the stumbling and wounded Guardsmen. Several more Chaos marines followed behind his, helping to slaughter the Guardsmen with chainsword and bolt pistol, one marine had a flamer and was using it judiciously to clear out bunkers and bomb shelters.

More chaos marines emerged across the no mans land, running forwards to reinforce the ones who had already come through the trenches lower to the ground. Las-fire and heavy weapons retaliation where sporadic at best. Sartol could feel it now, the Guard where beaten, they had already hacked through hundreds peicemental in the trench, with minimal losses to the Chaos marines. He could feel victory.

''Sartol! Leman Russes!'' came the voice of Dtar, speaking coldly over the channel. The Chaos champion finished off the Guardsman he was gutting, and peered over the lip of the parapet.

His enhanced vision and helmet easily picked out the forms of five Leman Russ tanks heading across the outskirts of the city, from a large tank hanger near the defense laser, which was still spitting death into the sky. It seems that the weakling servants of the Corpse Emperor, managed to get a collection of tanks readied. The Russes, opened fire, blowing several chaos marines to pieces, another round blew three more to a pulp.

Heavy bolters began to chatter, opening fire.

''Get into the trenches'' Sartol snarled as the surviving marines in no mans land began to drop into cover. ''Havocs! Target hen!''

With that order lascannon beams and krak missiles shot out, turning a Russ to scrap metal, other teams sent a stream of heavy bolter shots, krak missiles and lascannon rounds into another, disabling a track. The Russ stayed there, turning it's turret to target the far off Havoc Teams. It never got the chance as lascannon beams destroyed the Guard tank and reduced it to scrap metal.

The other Russ tanks had spotted the Havocs and fired, the shells impacting close to the captured PDF bunker the chaos marines had taken control. The remaining three moved forward, recognizing the Havocs in the first trench as the greatest threat. Sartol watched with barely concealed glee, as the Tanks crossed the second trench. These fools! Chaos marines, bent down in the confines of the trench, attached krak grenades to the thin under armor of the Russes.

These had to be PDF, he hardly believed that trained Guardsmen would make such an elementary mistake as this. One of the tanks exploded, the krak grenade striking a weak point, another two where halted, their tracks disabled. Then, both of their crews, turned their turrets around almost at the same time, realizing the danger they where in. A chaos marine from Torgoth's squad came up, and shot the tank with a meltagun.

The superheated beam ignited, melting through the thin rear armor of the turret with ease and ignited the ammunition stock, reducing the tank to a fiery orange inferno near the trench.

Sartol did not have any meltas near, but he did not need any. Vastak, jumped up form the trench, his second in command's power fist activating as he leapt on the tank, and straddled the turret. With one swift tug, he peeled away the hatch of the tank with ease and dropped a pair of frag grenades into the hatch before leaping away, a streak of fire and smoke shot up from the hatch as the crewmen where slaughtered by the grenades.

Vastak landed on his feet and rolled back into the trench as Sartol took stock of the situation.

''Excellent work, but cutting it a little close there Brother'' he chuckled.

''I was confidant Sartol'' Vastak replied, joining him.

''Don't worry about it.'' Sartol laughed, reloading his bolter after scanning the rest of the horizon, the Imperials had no more tanks this time.

''Let's go! All squads move out. Time to take the defense laser!'' he commanded over the vox-net.

''And for Khorne's sake stay close to the trenches!''

* * *

**Talian West**

Sartol led his company slaughtering their way across the Guard trenches to the defense laser and the command bunker for the entire anti-orbital defense systems on Talian West Spaceport. Chaos marines armed with meltaguns blasted ways into the defense laser facility, and in less than a minute they had all been slaughtered by the victorious Chaos Space Marines of the Third company.

Less than thirty minutes after the first Chaos marines had landed on Talian from low orbit, all resistance ceased as the last of the Guardsmen simply collapsed as a fighting unit and fled, Garlok's Berzerkers pursing them, slaughtering the survivors.

Few made it out alive.

The _Black Bane_, the _Bloodclaw_, the _Hammer of Damnation_, and other chaos ships now came in that the defense lasers where gone, immediately, huge bulk landers came form the landing bays of the orbital transport ships. Like immense, fat-bodied locusts they landed among the faculties of Talian as the Chaos marines quickly captured and sent the Imperial starport equipment to use in transporting the vast cultist armies of Chaos.

They came in all different shapes and sizes. The armies of the Black Reapers where made up of a variety of different warriors, recruited from everywhere in the Eye of Terror's vast dark expansion.

Rank upon rank of chanting and mutated cultist-warriors, dressed in looted flak armor over bloodstained robes and carried captured Imperial lasguns, made up the bulk of the first who landed. Then came the ground of mutants and other rabble, even lower on the totem pole than the cultists. Massive armies of mutated and gibbering slave things all came, almost all of them barely human.

Hundreds of chaos-twisted ogryns, great beasts pumped full of combat drugs and surgically modified for only one purpose, to kill in the name of the Four Gods. Many of them also sported mutations. Cells of sorcerers and rogue psykers came, regular human warlock and warp-dabblers pressed into service of the Black Reapers. Behind them came a variety of hired pirates and mercenaries.

Tank after tank of defiled Leman Russes, Hellhounds and Chimeras, among various other models and makes of Imperial tanks, also came out, to serve as the armored fist alongside the Predators and Land Raiders of the chaos marines.

Then came the Incardi, the Chaos human elite. Warriors in heavy flak mail, bearing hellguns and high-power autorifles. They where the best of the cultist warriors, trained and indoctrinated into their own brotherhood of warriors, drilled and equipped to be equal to the finest Imperial Guard formations. The Incardi Death-brigades, the elite of the elite, where armed with carapace armor, hellguns and bolters, stood themselves as the elite Incardi equivalent to the Imperial stromtroopers.

They had an infamous rivalry, with the Blackshield, the last to come, former stormtroopers who had long since sworn themselves to Chaos, the Incardi believed themselves superior for having never served the Emperor, and coming from the eye, the Blackshield believed they where better simply because they where once stormtroopers themselves.

Nonevertheless, they where both dwarfed in dark majesty by the Black Legionaries themselves. Giant figures came down the Stormbirds and Thunderhawks, the Blades of Chaos leading them.

The assembled hosts of Chaos came, for hours on end, the fleet unloading more and more troops and equipment, quickly turning the spaceport and the area beyond into a giant military camp for chaos.

Of course, in order to clear the room for chaos, the Imperials had to be cleared.

At first it was random, as chaos marines and cultists ransacked the homes of the civilian workers, slaughtering and torturing entire families in an orgy of violence. Then came orders for civilians to be rounded up and sent for field sacrifices. Fights and minor disputes broke out over who would be sacrificed to which god and where they would be sacrificed, often the disputes carried out into full-blown slaughter. Such incidents where quickly suppressed by their Chaos Space Marine masters.

Regardless, the main Chaos army had arrived.

Jarnus IV would know fear.

* * *

**Trenches outside of Talian**

Chaos Space Marines spread out through the abandoned trenches, executing the dead Guardsmen in the aftermath of the storm, as massive landers landed form the skies with fresh troops for the Chaos troops. Sartol walked along the trenches, flakboard groaned under his power armored boots, as he casually shot anything that even twitched with his bolter. He was bored, all of his excitement he had derived during the fight had dissipated. Two of his personal squad walked behind him.

Then he came across an open bunker, pushing aside the doors he looked around, the entire place was a charnel house, filled with corpses and smeared with blood, everyone was dead except for one Guardsman.

Sartol's autosenses detected a life sign right in front of him, kicking aside a corpse, he soon saw a wounded young man clutching a shrapnel would to the stomach. He was bleeding badly. Bolters where raised to dispatch him, but Sartol waved a hand. He holstered his bolter and removed his helmet, giving it to another Chaos marine, exposing, his pale tattooed features to the world. Then he smiled at the Guardsmen, chiseled teeth showing.

''My, my, you are pretty badly wounded there, Imperial, you don't look so well'' the young PDF soldier did not answer, overcome by fear, shock and pain. Sartol's enhanced sense of smell detected piss along with the smell of blood and filth.

''I'm not a bad man, I'm quite fair you see, I have a sense of honor, unlike most of my brethren'' he said. He mentioned to a Chaos marine.

''Your meltagun, now'' he commanded .

The Astartes gave him a strange look but Sartol merely repeated himself.

''I said give me your meltagun, now'' he said as the marine reluctantly gave him his tank-busting weapon.

Grinning now that he had it, he placed the weapon five feet away, at the other end of the wounded Guardsman and then walked back over.

''Imperial, I am going to make you a deal'' he said kindly.

''Go over and reach that meltagun, if you do manage to do it, I'll let you take a free shot at me with that thing, '' he smiled, as the young guardsman started at him with utter shock and fear.

''Now come on now'' Sartol said in a friendly tone.

''I won't attack you, and neither will my companions, go on, do it'' he made encouraging motions with his hands.

Slowly, the young Guardsman moved, carefully and wincing with pain as blood continued to trickle out of his gut wounds. Hauling himself painfully to his knees he went to work. Slowly, inch by inch, he crawled over to the meltagun, each tortuous movement, causing him to sweat and spit out of sheer exertion. Tears began to stream out of his eyes just as he approached the last few inches of the Meltagun.

Just as his fingers where about to close around the stock, a shot rang out, and the Guardsman's head exploded like a rotten melon. Sartol lowered the smoking bolt pistol.

''Oops, I lied'' he joked, walking over and grabbing the meltagun and then tossing it back at his original owner.

''Why did you do that?'' the chaos marine asked. Sartol merely looked at him.

''Isn't it obvious?'' he snorted. ''It's because I could, remember this, there is nothing more thrilling in life than taking a life, not because you need to, but because you can'' Sartol smirked.

''There is nothing else that makes a person feel like they are a god then seeing a person die needlessly for you. And I like feeling like a god, I wonder if that is how Khorne feels'' he said.

He shrugged, putting back on his helmet, becoming devil-masked once again.

''Let's move on, there is nothing left here.''

* * *

**(Author's notes: And that, my friends, if how you write a villain you want to hate. Is this case the villain is the protagonist. The whole point that is Sartol is a chaos marine, and chaos marines are not nice people. I don't want people to sympathize with him too much.**

**Kind of like creating an ''Anti-Basiclus'')**


	3. Psychopath Blues

**Author's Notes(Here is chapter three, no action here, unfourtunately, here I introduce the Imperial characters)**

**Chapter Three-Psychopath Blues**

**

* * *

**

**Orenis II-over a Thousand years before.**

''My lord we have discovered the locations of the Throne you have requested'' Torgoth, second in command of the third grand company of the Black Reapers, stated to Tarmak respectfully.

''Good then, I assume the witch here found it out?'' the newly appointed Third Blade said, referring to Arenio in the corner of the command bunker, who stood still, if he had any anger, Sartol could not detect it behind his mask.

They where in a command bunker, one of the many surrounding Orenis Primaris, the capital city of Orenis II, a large and important agri-world that supplied grox-meat to the local sectors, including Cadia.

It was the Eleventh Black Crusade, and Lord Abbadon's forces where striking out, seeking certain artifacts on worlds for the Despoiler's next plan to destroy the hated Imperium of Man. Before they set out, Tarmak had murdered his predecessor, in an ambush outside the Osgilath, that was barely two years ago, an eyeblink to the millennia old Chaos Space Marines.

Orenis was ruled by a heredity dynasty of Kings, who possessed the scepter of Ash-tarok, a weapon that was supposed to be able to enhance the psychic abilities of the user.

The Black Reapers had been charged, along with two other warbands, one of the Emperor's Children, and the other of the Word Bearers, to take Orenis' II, deny the Imperials the food supplies and take the scepter The fleet had come in, destroying the orbital facilities of Orenis and coming in vast numbers, too much for the pitiful defenses of the agri-world to take out, landing drop pods by the hundreds into the cities and towns.

The first weeks of the campaign had been good, the Black Reapers annihilated army after army of pitiful conscripts, even the arrival of the Imperial Guard only served to barely stalemate the legions of Chaos.

Only the arrival of the Titans legions and forces from three different Astartes chapters, the Space Wolves the Imperial Fists, and the White Consuls, did the Chaos assault grind to a complete and utter stop. With warriors capable of meeting the Chaos marines blade-to-blade, the Black Legion found itself equally matched, Sartol himself slew many loyalist marines with his blade.

But it was not enough, slowly, but surely, the Imperials began to force the armies of Chaos back as more and more Imperial enforcements came to the planet, reinforcing their brethren. Even elements of the Grey Knights had begun to arrive, even Heru'ur, eager to prove his title of ''Knight slayer'' ,earned after the massacre of the Grey Knights at Knruth seven centuries earlier, was challenged by this wave of new arrivals.

Heru'ur himself led a strike against the capital city, mustering his entire warband in an attempt to take out the city and cut off the leadership of the Imperials in one blow so that the war could end quickly.

''Sartol, Larmath, take your dogs and retrieve it for me, I will lead the rest in the assault against the Fists's defensives positions'' Tarmak stated, as they pored over a holo-map. The entire bunker was cramped and poorly-lit, not that it mattered to the enhanced eyesight of the marines.

'Dtar, you will finally be able to prove your stinking hide by acting as my meat shield in the assault'' he stated bluntly, as usual, Dtar did not react at ll, as was typical behavior for him. Tarmac again showed his lack of respect, Sartol mused. I would have gotten more out of my brothers with flattery and appealing to their pride, not threats, he mused.

And that bastard Torgoth, seemed to go along with it, being Tarmak's every loyal lackey, he mused hatefully.

The throne of the Orenisian Kings was a beautiful thing, formed of pressed moon-gold and green jade, carven to resemble a most kingly aspect. It seated the Kings of Orenis for eight millennia now.

And Tarmak, in his own arrogance and pride, wanted it to show off his newfound authority over the members of the third grand company, to show his power and pride once more.

All this flying in the face of Heru'ur's tactical instructions.

''My lord'' Larmath forced out.

''With great respect, my brothers are warriors, Khorne would be surely pleased if we led the assault on the Imperial Fists's position, there we would be able to put our close combat skills to good use'' he informed him.

Tarmak looked at him with contempt. ''Larmath, have you forgotten what good dogs do? They obey, and you are being a disobedient beast. Sartol could see the Berzerker champion's face harden and admired the Berzerker champion's control at suppressing his cybernetic cranial implants urging him to kill Tarmak.

''Khorne may be your god, but here, I am your own personal god on this battlefield, do you understand, dog?'' Tarmak spat the last par tout.

''You may be a god, milord'' Sartol interjected.

''But Heru'ur and Cero Obsurcas still rule over us all, and they command we proceed with our objectives'' he should have not let that slip out, as Tarmak whirled around to face him.

''And with that, you will be guarding slaves for the rest of this conflict, Sartol'' Tarmak spat out. Sartol felt rage take his soul, but he forced it down, not here, not now he reminded himself.

''I am master, I am king, I am god and I will have my throne'' Tarmak commanded.

''Now, go, dogs''

* * *

**Talian West Spaceport**

Talian West was transformed into a place resembling a scene from some playwright's hell. Buildings where blasted out husk, being pulled apart by Chaos soldiery for the construction of field fortifications. Drop ship after drop ship landed from the skies, each carrying hundreds of more cultists and soldiery to the earth, great drop ships ferrying from the skies and into the depths of space, from each of the Chaos ships in orbit, like a bee pollinating a hive.

Smoke rose high in the air as the sun set down, the day after the Chaos forces had taken the spaceport, casting the area, in a blood-red glow, adding more to the hellish appearance of the spaceport.

The few surviving citizenry of Talian West, the downtrodden workers of the city that manned the orbital facilities and the mag-rails, that brought tonnes of precious ore to Talian for of-world transportation, where quickly rounded up. Man, woman, child, it hardly mattered, the young and the old where executed coldly and the few healthy survivors rounded up, and sent to the front line fortifications where they would be worked to death, rebuilding the shattered fortifications surrounding the city, or forced to build moments to the Dark Gods.

Much like the chaos host that assaulted Armageddon over four hundred years earlier, moments where needed to be built in order to summon the Dark Gods's greatest servants to reality. Great spiraling towers where beginning to take shape, like broken spines over the shattered wreck of Talian West, slowly, they where being constructed, when they where completed, daemons would walk the earth.

Sartol walked along the slave lines, the captive workers of Talian West marching alongside the various slave mutants brought down to work on the great monuments to the Dark Gods. Although they would take at least several days to fully complete, Sartol could see they where already taking shape into the familiar icons of the dark Gods, he had seen them constructed many, many times before, and he was pleased.

He walked along, the warriors of his Chosen squad, trusted and blooded warriors who had fought alongside him for ten millennia, among the few that he completely trusted. He walked down the flakboard ramps that lead to a lower depression in the ground where a series of new icons was being constructed alongside a set of concrete defense bunkers on the southern edge of Talian.

Looking around he spotted Torgoth, his former rival. He strode over. ''Torgoth my friend, I trust your spirits are in good order?'' he asked the chaos marine, who merely looked at him with barely concealed contempt.

Torgoth had always been Tarmak's lackey, following his every order and command, assuming, that he could succeed the chaos champion when the day came, but he had not, and Sartol could feel the wound fester.

He reveled in it.

''Tolerable, Sartol'' he said coldly to the Third Blade

''Lord Sartol to you, brother Torgoth'' he grinned, noting the look of displeasure on Torgoth's scarred features. Chuckling, Sartol took off his own helmet and handed it to a nearby marine.

''I'm just joking brother'' he came aside him.

''My my, you look so gloomy? Is there something wrong?'' he asked kindly.

''I only appreciate the task you had given me'' Torgoth replied. They both knew that guarding slaves was Sartol's way of saying ''screw you'' to the former bootlicker. It was sweet, sweet revenge for the Third Blade

The Third Blade looked over the crown of slaves, observing each and everyone's faces, noting who and what looked alike.

''You are too morose, I will cheer you up'' he said. Quickly, he spotted two faces in the slave line being led away to the work site, and ordered his chaos marines to bring them there.

They where two girls, one a young woman, and the other a teenager, both smeared with dirt to the point where they resembled women much older than they, their hands and feet where little more than a mass of blisters and clauses.

To put it bluntly, they looked like hell.

The older one remained strong, emotionless as Sartol came to her, the younger one broke down, streams of tears and snot covering her face as she was consumed by despair at the sigh of the smiling Chaos marine.

''You two are siblings I assume?'' he asked politely, they remained silent.

''Answer him'' a chaos marine guard growled. After a few moments, a mumbled yes came form the older one.

''Good'' Sartol simply he pointed at a cultist slave-guard standing near them.

''Give me your autopistol now'' he commanded, a stuttering cultist murmured an affirmative.

Sartol took it, emptying out the chamber and throwing it to the ground, inspecting it carefully, then he spoke to the older woman.

''Woman, I am giving you a choice, kill your sister, if you do so you will be taken from here and treated like a Queen, you will never work a day's life here again'' he explained to her, still smiled.

Torgoth was startled at that.'' Sartol-'' he began.

''Of do please shut up Torgoth, that is ''Lord Sartol, by the way'' he shot back before turning his attention to the woman.

''This autopistol has only one round left, kill her with it. And don't even think of trying to use it on me, I will remove your limb before you can pull the trigger and make you suffering a hundred times worse than this place'' he threatened.

He tossed it to her. It landed on the dirt, staring incredulously at it on the ground. She picked it up, her sister began crying harder as she held it testing it's weight. Sartol watched in fascination.

He began to point it at her sister.

''See?'' Sartol said.

Then she put barrel in her mouth and squeezed the trigger.

The autopistol clicked. Sartol blew her head off, the bolt round reducing her upper body to a red ruin. Casually Sartol shot the other crying girl in the head killing her. He holstered his pistol.

''I forgot to mention, I lied about the one round, I completely emptied it'' Sartol said.

'Family is strong, she wanted to sacrifice herself for her'' Sartol shrugged. ''I already anticipated that now let's bring someone who is NOT family into the equation'' explained. He barked orders and the corpses where cleared away.

Two more people appeared, both older men, who looked like hell, bruised hands and covered n dirt, blood and filth. Sartol smiled.

''I'll make this short and simple, Kill each other, the survivor is freed and treated like e king, how does that sound?'' he asked them.

After a few second they flew at each other, fingers outstretched like claws. Sartol observed them in fascination. One of older, but more well built, another was younger, but smaller in build.

Finger scraped at eyes, knees sought guts and skin was peeled at by sharpened fingernails, in less than a minute the younger man stood, wounded and battered over the corpse of his rival, having snapped his neck.

He turned to the Third Blade expectedly. Sartol shot him in the head with his pistol.

''Why did you have them fight to the death then?'' Torgoth demanded. ''You just cost us valuable manpower'' Sartol grinned and looked at him.

''The point is'' he began, kicking the corpse.

''Is that I am in charge, me, I am now god here, you remember now do you Torgoth'' he sneered.

''And I, well I don't forget, ever''

* * *

**Jarnus Primaris-Grand Square****-Three days later**

''What do you mean you don't have any more clocks left?'' Barthus Merro said to the shopkeeper in the clock store. They where both standing at the counter in the small cramped shop.

The clock keeper shrugged at the Guard officer. ''Time have been hardly lately'' he said. ''Folks have been buying up a lot of clocks lately, before not there was not much of a demand for it'' he said honestly.

He was cleaning his counter free of dust, when Merro came in looking for a clock, the man was bald, and on the wrong side of forty, he looked rather apologetic as he informed the Cadian of that fact.

''Well, I'm going to be need one'' Merro was a tall, powerfully built man, with short blonde hair and dark blue eyes, with a pale complexion. He wore the uniform of a Cadian Guard captain.

He was one of the officers of the 184th Cadian regiment assigned to Jarnus as part of the garrison, with the news of the Chaos invasion, he had come naturally to a store in the Grand Square, to buy a watch.

The whole store was almost empty when he got there, clocks and watches gone, bought up in the furious frenzy when the news of the invaders had finally filtered through the propaganda channels. People wanted to keep time with the curfew after all, he supposed, or just wanted something to channel away the feat, he shrugged. He was no psychology expert.

Jarnus Primaris was a real city, unlike Talian, large and bustling, it housed almost six million people, over a quarter of the planet's total population, it was the political and communications hub of the planet.

''Fine, I'll come back later then'' he said.

''Good day'' the shopkeeper replied, as he went back to cleaning his counter.

Merro sighed and walked back out into the streets, the golden sunlight hit him as he did so, walking down into the steps and into the gold-wreathed streets, right into the hurrying crowds of the Grad Square.

The Square was one of the most oldest and important sights are the Primaris. It was one of the first places the initial colonists build and it had only expanded from there into bustling trade up. Four vast statues, the initial founders of the colony, towered at each end of the square, a massive fountain, carved in the shape of a bounding horseman, spat water into a large basin around it.

The multitude of masses hurried back and forth, families and businessmen, youths and off-duty PDF troopers, shopkeepers and workmen, all hurrying back in forth in their daily business. Even with the news of a chaos invasion of the widespread panic, life still went on here. Merro stopped his adjutant, Knifesmith and waved him over, pushing through the thick crowds.

''You got it?'' he asked.

''Yes sir'' Knifesmith lead him, pushing through the crowds.

''I got the aircar you wanted.''

''Good, now we won't have to trudge through the mess of plebeians anymore'' Merro sighed. They came to the nearby parking lot that led to the Grand Square.

''It should be over there'' Knifesmith pointed. Then to his horror several local gangers where looking it over.

''Hey!'' Merro shouted. They whirled around and began to run away.

''Damn kids'' Knifesmith muttered. Merro sighed and went over checking the sleek, green aircar for damage. He found only a few kicks and dents. He shrugged.

''At least it's in good condition''

''Yeah, of yeah'' Knifesmith pulled out a watch.

''I got you this'' Merro took it grinning.

''Thanks, you're a lifesaver'' he pocketed it.

''Now let's go''

* * *

**Talian west Command briefing**

The Stormbird had come down, a great dropship, a relic of the Great Crusade, one of the few of it's kind left to the Black Legion, as most of it's drop ships had been replaced by the newer Thunderhawk at the start of the Heresy and captured from loyalists over millennia of warfare.

The huge ship landed down in the landing zone, the doors slamming down as a quartet of the Executors marched out, black terminator armor gleaming in the afternoon sun darkly as they scanned weapon back and forth. Then came Heru'ur, massive fur cape swirling around his terminator armored form, head helmeted in his horned helm and carrying Dra'Caroth'id in one hand and a combi-melta in the other.

He and his retinue made their way down into the spaceport, into a wide circle, painted in blood by the slaves, The rest of the Blades where there, gathered to meet the Eighth Blade.

They made room at the sides of the Eight pointed star, taking their places on each of the ''spikes'' that radiated from the center. His Terminator bodyguards holding back, Heru'ur entered and took his place at the head of the circle.

''My brethren'' he said, his voice booming. ''We have taken Talian'' he looked over them.

''I am pleased with your results, it was a swift victory, we have had problems with the after battle sacrifices, some heathen decided to go against my will on which of the captive should be sacrificed, they are dead now'' he stated simplely.

''Now let us talk plans'' he looked at Ashram.

''Ashram? Have you and your Sorcerers discovered anything?''

The Sorceror shook his head. ''Yes and no''

''What do you mean by that?'' Koramak asked.

''The Black Gate is not here, but somewhere else, from further scrying it's in the capital city'' he reported.

''If it's in the capital then we don't need to strike elsewhere'' Sartol concluded.

''We would need to do so for slaves and sacrifices'' Gartok said. ''Khorne will be pleased by such a harvest'' he stated.

''But that is a secondary objective'' Heru'ur reminded them.

''As always, the Black Gate remain our main objective, we will handle the other cities, but such tasks are the Incardi's job, the work of the mortal warriors'' he stated.

''No, the Black Gate takes precedence over such things'' he explained.

''But there are other cities on the continents'' Sartol asked. ''You cannot expect us to simply leave them be, we do not have the manpower to strike at all of them.''

''Then we will eradicate them from orbit'' Heru'ur said.

''Khorne will not be pleased at such a waste'' Gartok replied.

''Khorne will have his share in the coming battles, of that can assure you'' Heru'ur replied.

''Then why don't we bombard Jarnus Primaris then? And search for the Gate after the Imperials are gone?'' Sartol asked.

''For a number of reasons'' Koramak said. ''We could easily destroy the Gate there by accident, we don't know where it is, only that it is in the general area, right Ashram?'''' the sorcerer nodded.

''And for the defensive line we've seen the Imperials rebuilding near Jarnus Primaris?'' Sartol asked.

''Yes, that the other part of our meeting'' Koramak said.

''I will not destroy the defensive line for two reasons'' Heru'ur said.

''The place where they are located in a defensive line twenty five miles long and has been located near bastions of magnetic ore, interfering with scans, the only way to get a proper lock-on from obit would be to use an Icon right at ground zero'' he explained.

''Obviously we are not going to do that for anything but teleported troops'' he continued.

''However the second is that the Gate may also be buried there, as such we cannot risk even the slightest chance of accidentally destroying it with something as indiscriminate with an orbital bombardment''

''That line-'' Koramak began. ''Is an old one, from the interrogations of the Imperials, I've learned that they have used it before, against the greenskins, four centuries ago when they invaded''

''I sent scouts to reconnoiter it, and from orbital scans I've pieced an image, three lines, heavily fortified with numerous smaller trench lines, and built in artillery with rear staging areas, a drop pod assault is going to take time, and this time we do not posses the element of surprise''

''It's located between a large set of mountains to one side, and a carbon rich river, to the other, making flanking it hard to do'' he stated.

''In addition to that the capital city posses defense lasers and void shields, maintaining a direct orbital assault there impossible, an drop assault at the trenches will be risky to our ships since they will have to move into low orbit, and our invisibility no longer protects us''

''Normally it would not be a problem, I care little for the cultist's ships in orbit, but for our Brothers there is still some small risk our transports could get destroyed in the low orbit while deploying'' Koramak stated.

''Then we will simply try an overland assault, we have the full warband here, plus tens of thousands of cultists, I want to scout the rest of the line so I can form a battleplan for myself'' he stated.

''Then we shall batter them'' Heru'ur said simply.

''For we are the Black Legion, and we will not be denied''

* * *

**Jarnus Governor's Palace-Command Center**

Captain Merro and Knifesmith walked into the briefing chamber quietly, walking to the Cadian delegation in the War Planning session that was being held, navigating their way through other Imperial officials. Dozens of PDF officers, from the ranks of colonel and upwards where present, many of them still in their gold-frogged uniforms heavy with medals, armchair soldiers, Merro through contemptuously.

He exchanged a respectful nod with the Vahallans led by Colonel Streski and walked over next to Colonel Mrynel of the 184th Cadian regiment and Colonel Wallen of the Cadian 55th armored.

Mrynel looked at him, face pinched and hawklike, hair receding. His left eye, a bionic replacement flickered when he saw Merro come in.

''Took you long enough Barthus'' he said. He looked t the Vahallans.

''The 393rd are getting restless, just like us'' he scowled. ''I don't like being forced to wait for Arsten, even if he is a Planetary Governor'' he said darkly.

The chamber was filled with various military officers, PDF colonels and generals, and various Guard officers, many of whom where lower rank, a special privilege Merro reflected wryly.

Representatives from the Mechanicus where also there, silent and aloof, along with others form the Adeptus Telepathica and the Arbirtes. Even the members of the Order of the White Rose where there, the Sisters resplendent in their gleaming silver power armor and blue robes. The chamber itself was a huge, circular construction, constructed out of marble and sandlewood, embossed tiles covered the walls and the ceiling itself was a giant mosaic dedicated to showing scenes of war and glory of the Imperium's past heroes.

There was the Space Wolves, a slaughtering orks that had come five centuries earlier, there was Mallus Ton, who suppressed the Haymarket riots eighty years ago. There was imagines of Macharius, striding over the broken bodies of various xenos. Various statues lined the hall, images of idealized nudes, acquired by the governor himself in planetary trade, Governor Arsten was a man of refined taste, Merro thought, noting the richly decorated floor.

The gold-plated doors at the end of the hall opened and Governor Arsten entered.

A man of average height and width, the only thing that was conspicuous about him was his lack of hair and bionic monocle on his right eye. He was dressed in deep purple robes with fuchsia trim. Behind him marched four lifeguards. Augmented and chemically enhanced gangers plucked off the streets to serve as bodyguards for the Noble Houses, these were Arsten's own guard.

Arsten walked over to the briefing table and started to speak.

''My friends, it is my pleasure to welcome you to this planning session, here we decide the fate on the planet'' he began. He then mentioned for a man dressed in the black uniform of an Imperial tactician to step forward.

''Thank you milord governor, I am Calitan'' Calitan spoke, activating the holo-display as he did so.

''As you are no doubt aware, four days ago the forces of Chaos have landed at Talian West spaceport and slaughtered it's inhabitants before land their troops en-mass to capture it.'' He started.

''Rapidly, we sent out a psychic distress call, right before the Astropath went insane and started to claw his eyes out. He was given the Emperor's Peace'' he continued. The map changed to show the various other cities of Jarnus.

''In rapid succession, other chaos forces have landed at the other cities, and despite their brave attempts-'' somebody coughed sarcastically in the back. ''-The PDF forces on the Northern continent where overwhelmed.''

That was bad news the Northern continent was the most heavily populated part of Jarnus IV, the capital itself was located in the southern part of the Northern continent.

''As such, the chaos reinforcements have glassed the Southern continent from orbit, they have been wiping out cities form orbit, as such as can expect they are looking to capture Jarnus Primaris for some reason'' he stated.

''What reason could they have to a single city?'' Colonel Streski asked.

''Do not ask what the mind of a heretic desires, his mind is incompressible as any alien.'' Canoness Irene of the Order of the White Rose warned, his bionic eye gleaming. She was a regal, stern looking woman, with black hair streaked with white.

An entire Preceptory was founded on Jarnus IV, and had been present since it's founding over six hundred years ago, almost eight hundred Sororitas where stationed in their fortress chapel.

''And our fleet?'' Mrynel asked.

''Gone'' Calitan replied. He changed the viewpoint on the holo-table. ''There are over two dozen ships in orbit, if they decided to attack, the defenses of the city would be heavily outmatched.'' He sated.

'''So then we can expect to be safe for now?'' Irene asked.

''For know, until the Chaos forces decide to attack in a ground assault.'' Mrynel said.

''And that is not the worst of it'' the tactician said. He looked around grimly at the table.

''What you are about to hear is classified top-secret, it must not leave this room, for propaganda reasons''

''The Traitor Legions are on Jarnus'' he said.

The reaction was immediate, the Sigh of the Aquila was made, payers where uttered, the entire room was shocked.

''How many?'' Irene asked coolly.

''Several hundred by your estimates, considering the size of the fleet, there could be easily over a thousand.'' He said grimly.

In the back someone fainted. All felt the pangs of despair, a thousand traitor marines was beyond what any of them had expected.


	4. Releasing the Daemons

**(Author's Notes: this one was a bit long in coming out, it covers most of the battle for the Karkov line.****Now, the sisters make an appearance close readers will notice that I did not really write in the faith abilities. This is for two reasons.**

**1. I think it's more of a game balance thing with a rather poor fluff justification.**

**2. More importantly, I don't feel I can really write it well into the story**

**As for the Possessed you will notice I have my own take on the, I've made Morgord and his possessed brothers into essentially Alex Mercer from Prototype, with the shapeshifting.)**

**Blades of Chaos**

**Chapter 4- Releasing the Daemons**

* * *

**2 miles out from the Karkov lines-50 miles out from Jarnus Primaris.**

The Guardsman fled from the burning wreck of the Salamander scout vehicle, panting as he did so, smoke trailing after him as flames licked at his boots from the inferno of the vehicle.

A dozen vehicles had come from the Karkov line, and now all dozen where destroyed, burned out wrecks in the grey wastes, four hundred yards from the Chaos lines.

His face was soot-stained and his uniform marked him out as part of the Jarnus PDF. Rank bars on one shoulder showed him to a corporal in the scout companies of the 17th armored regiment. He and his squadron where out scouting the wastes infront of the Karkov line, the great Imperial defensive line that had held off the ork Waaaggh centuries earlier, old and powerful.

Now it was refurbished hurriedly by work gangs, the old fortifications being dug back in and bunkers being dusted off in preparation for the Chaos offensive aimed at Jarnus Primaris.

The Chaos forces that arrived, over the flat grey wastelands, had not attacked straight away like the Imperials had anticipated. Instead they began to dug in, the entire army doing so. Groups of Salamanders where sent out to scout and observe the Chaos fortifications, to find out where exactly they where going to take place. Coming in under the cover of darkness they launched patrols of Imperial scouts.

This was one patrol that was not going to come back.

Smoke spiraled into the starry night as flames licked and provided a bare illumination into the pitch blackness. A huge blackened shape emerged from the wreck of a burning Salamander and set off after the fleeing Guardsman. Reverse-jointed hooves pounded the ground as the power armored gauntlets of Morgord, the champion of the possessed, began to warp and shift it's shape from human hands, to a set of razor-sharp claws.

Within three steps the champion overtook the Guardsman, the black claws of Morgord exploded from his chest, covered in a crimson film as the champion shook the writhing corpse. Morgord threw the corpse to the ground and looked out, his daemonic witch sight and genetically enhanced vision easily penetrating the darkness, making the night appear as clear as day to him.

No more Salamanders, he though. He quickly sent a message for the Traitor Guardsmen to put away their missile launchers and get back to digging. No more Imperials here.

* * *

**Five Days later**

Sister-Superior Mira looked out from a low-built dugout over at the distant lines that the Chaos invaders had built. She had her helmet on, pushing the rangefinders in it to it's maximum limit to observe the chaos lines.

Even pushing her rangefinders to the maximum range, she could only see little figures, like dolls, in the distance, swarming around the trenches on occasion, for fear of snipers potentially hidden in the mainland. It was a black line in the distance, vaguely obscured the by smoke drifting across the lands, from the wrecks of various Salamander scout vehicles sent to reconnoiter the Chaos positions the previous nights before.

''They got that up quickly,'' she said to Canoness Irene, who was sharing the dugout with her and a handful of Senior sisters. A thick musty smell filled the air, Jarnus's own polluted air did little to help the air.

The dugout was enough for a dozen people to stand in, it was dirty, the mud messing the silver plate and azure robes of the Sisters as they conversed, but it was the cleanest one they could get. That fact did not begrudge the proud Sisters very much. However they made do even in those kinds of conditions.

''It's remarkable that they built it so quickly,'' she remarked.

''Do not take pride in the accomplishments of the enemy,'' Irene cautioned.

''I take no pride, Canoness, just disgust,'' he replied.

''What do you think Priscalla?'' she asked the Preceptor.

The woman cleared her throat, which was covered by a large flamer burn that went across her face. ''Hard to say as of now, an assault is inevitable of course,'' she said.

''The Guard commanders assured me that we would face only a frontal assault, that the Sisters that I assigned to the mountains and the river would protect our flanks,'' Irene said.

''Mira? You where inspecting the river yesterday as I commanded?'' she asked.

The aftermentioned Sororitas's face sneered in disgust. ''Yes Canoness, it was black there, grey and black as tar, the smell was absolutely disgusting,'' she reported.

The Karkov river was absolutely soaked with chemicals and toxic, waste from centuries of refuse from the mining machines. The great mining trawlers of Jarnus inevitably produced much waste. And that waste went into the river It was that waste which made it almost impossible for a human to survive. The river itself was too deep and fast-flowing for armored vehicles to cross reliably.

Any armored forces would be sitting ducks in the face of the defenses, and no infantry could cross the toxic river without dying form the poisons. It was a very strong defense, the PDF has assured her.

''I only hope that the guardsmen are right, I have little knowledge of such matters, but you have seen it, can anything survive in it?'' she asked.

''Not a thing.''

Irene nodded. ''Then our course is decided.''

Reluctantly, Irene withdrew her Sisters, and sent them elsewhere, towards sections less well protected, to be placed where the Chaos forces would hit, the most easily accessible areas. Over five hundred Sisters where present, along with their tanks and support elements, alongside twenty thousand Guardsmen and fifty thousand PDF troopers that garrisoned the line.

Irene hoped it would be enough.

* * *

**Sartol's Grand Company**

The Karkov river was fed from the Jarnus ocean, it's basin extending through a series of large and forbidding mountains, the only area which the river began to spill out into flatter land was covered by Imperial fortifications.

Twenty five miles of flat land extended until the Quatra depression, a large toxic swamp created from centuries of over-mining and pollution, a nightmare area, making it impossible for armored forces to advance. As such, with their flanks guarded, the commanders of the Karkov line concentrated most of their forces in the central part of the trenches, while creating an armored reserve to the rear, ready to respond to any breach in the central line.

Opposing them was twenty five miles of hastily dug trench lines, dug in just five days, they where poorly made in comparison to the more impressive constructions of the Imperial lines.

In the rear of a trench line, in a bunker, Sartol chewed on the brainpan of the Imperial officer, his bloody corpse lying on the ground, decapitated. The officer had been seized in the previous night's raid. The Omophagea was an organ that allowed a Marine to absorb the genetic memory of those they ate, the most common way to do this was through the brain, by consuming that he would gain some of the officer's memories.

''Crunchy,'' he said, his voice muffled through the chewing of the brain.

''Could use some spices though,'' he commented as he swallowed.

A torrent of memories hit him, the face of a woman, a child, of a classroom, joining with a fellow PDF officer, these and more hit Sartol's brain, feeding him the past experiences of the man he just killed. All memories of his sad, pathetic life, Sartol though, relishing the last blurred images of the main being murdered by a Chaos marine, himself he recognized at the back of his mind.

Then he came to the information that he wanted. The location of the command bunker and of the weak points in the Karkov line, he savored each memory, noting each part before he mentioned for a datapad to be brought over

''Let's see what the Eighth Blade makes of _this,_''

* * *

**Imperial defense line**

The sun dipped in the east, waves of crimson dappling across the horizon, to cast it's blood red light over the land, casting everything in orange-red, a foreshadow of what was to come.

Captain Merro started out through his binoculars, his earplugs firmly in place, as he observed hundreds upon hundreds of cultists dying as they charged the fields en-mass over the grey waste. Thousands upon thousands of them, screaming cultists and mutants, armed with a variety of lasguns and close combat weapons, knives, crude pikes, shovels and axes, all coming in, shouting their dedication to the Dark Gods.

A fresh boom ripped through the air, audible even through his ear plugs. As the Earthshaker cannons and Basilisks opened fire, among other artillery pieces, along with the crewed infantry mortars in the dugouts. Countless cultists died in the grey wastes, slain by the artillery, but there where simply far too many for the artillery to take out themselves. But Merro could see they where not going got succeed.

After only a short bombardment from the chaos artillery pieces, these waves upon waves of cultists spilled over towards the central lines, like a human sea they came, despite immense casualties. It had to be to use up the defenders ammunition, he decided. He had seen cannon fodder like this used before, in the Cadian system, where their Astartes masters herded them into the teeth of the enemy to soften them up.

Eighty meters, seventy meters, sixty meters, they where coming closer. The artillery barrage stopped as Guardsmen rushed out of the bomb shelters and to man their stations at the firing steps.

''Open fire!'' Merro shouted, as the Second Battalion, over eight hundred Cadians, assigned to hold this sector of the trench, a force he commanded, opened fire along the line.

Heavy bolters, autocannons, mortars and frag missiles all added their fire to the lasguns. The devastation that they wreaked was amazing, entire enemy waves simply disappeared under the firestorm. Rapidly the corpses began to pile up, because even with the kind of fire that the Guard was putting out, the sheer numbers that the cultists and mutants came in was staggering in their immensity.

Through the las-fire dozens of mutated warriors came over, a Guardsmen next to Merro fell back dead, a lucky las round through the eye, dozens of more Cadians fell back, dead, or clutching at wounds as the chaos forces came on.

The huge hulking shapes of Chaos-tainted ogryns came over the heads. Vast beasts, mutated with tentacles and snapping claws, with chaotic runes painted in their flesh and pumped full of combat drugs. Heavy bolter fire began to move towards them, tracer rounds whipping as the weapon's fire blew away huge chunks of flesh, as the Guard took target priority of that. Concentrated lasfire downed more cultists as they came into less than a dozen meters, firing their weapons.

Grenades sallied back and forth. Merro shot a cultist with his bolter, the bolt round blowing out his chest even as he raised his arm to throw a grenade. Lifeless the corpse holding the grenade exploded as it went off. More and more cultists dropped in, eager to engage in close combat snarling, Merro shot two cultists as they dropped in, and drew his power sword, activating the button on the hilt, it leapt to life.

A screaming, snake-headed cultist ran towards him, blade upraise to strike his head. Merro ducked under the blow and gutted him with one move, before wrenching his blade out to sever the arm of another mutant rushing him.

His sword, tore into the throat of another mutant, who aimed an autopistol at him, as a huge dark shape left into the trenches. The chaos ogryn roared, massive fists pulping various bodies.

It's head was shaped like a monstrous cat, fang-filled mouth stretching impossibility wide. It's monstrous fists, where knobby, and covered with spines, shot out and impaled Guardsmen as he clubbed them to death. It was covered with multiple wounds, caused by heavy bolters and autocannons, blowing away chunks of flesh, causing green blood to drip forth from the wounds. It ignored Lasfire pounding it's back as it rushed the captain.

He brought up his sword, blocking the massive knobby fist as the disruption field cut through the spines of the first, chopping of spears of bone cleanly, however the fist behind connected, throwing Merro back. The captain hit the ground with a thud, pain lanced through his body as his vision swam. The ogryn hit like a freight train, something growled and leapt at the captain, then there was a blast.

Knifesmith helped the captain to his feet, one hand holding his meltagun that he used to kill the rampaging beast.

''Are you okay?'' he asked. Merro tore out the ear plugs.

Merro panted and nodded, all around him, he realized that the last sounds of the fighting where dying down, the Guard has beaten back the Chaos attack, he looked around over the trench to see the ocean of corpses. There had been ultimately too few Chaos forces to survive to fully storm the trench. More Guardsmen came up from the rear, reforming the battered Imperial defenses, bringing up fresh ammo.

''The real attack's still coming,'' He muttered.

* * *

**Sartol's Grand Company-Nightfall**

Heru'ur spent the day examining the data Sartol sent him, before ordering his units to move into their positions, a plan was sent out and transmitted to each unit commander, ordering them into each position.

By midnight they were ready.

Sartol, and his entire grand company, plus Garlok's company, dropped into the river, under the cover of darkness, over seven hundreds yards from the nearest Imperial positions across the river. The carbon-polluted river, full of toxins, would kill any normal man who took a swim. But the chaos marines where not normal men by any means, with their genetically enhanced bodies made to survive in hostile environments and their sealed power armor along with daemonic blessings, they could survive.

Hundreds of figures plunged into the blackness, with only the internal autosenses of their suits barely able to piece the watery black gloom they found themselves in. Sartol was barely able to see his own hand. He looked around as he floated through the toxic water, clumps of toxic waste catching on the edges of his armor as his men descended into the depths, their bodies easily taking in the water pressure as they hit the ground.

They where blind, he could not see anyone near each other, but for their squad links and autosenses, rapidly they each began to move towards the other side of the river, as best they could.

''This is refreshing,'' Dtar said. Of course only a plague marine of Nurgle would find this pleasant.

''Move on, we don't have much time,'' Sartol voxed his units.

The chaos marines moved on, coming through the river. It took several minutes to come through the river, each step sending up swilling clouds of black sand from the river bottom. Then they reached the other side of the river. Rapidly they climbed into the bank of the river moving up and up into the surface and into air. With a burst of water the first chaos marine tore through to the surface and onto the banks.

Only a few searchlights were out, the Imperial clearly not expecting an attack. Rapidly Sartol voxed his units, ordering teams of chaos marines to move out and attack the Imperial trenches. The Imperials where dug into a low ridge overlooking the river, covering it with autocannons and heavy weapons, the entire line studded with bunkers. However they where not expecting an attack, the only warning was the sudden smaller of the Chaos marines.

The searchlights finally found them as they came within twenty meters of the trenches. Hastily, the Guardsmen opened fire with their weapons, the chatter of heavy weapons filled the air along with the fields of lasfire. But it was two late, autocannon rounds cut down three marines and las-rounds took out two more Black Legionaries as they came in, but they where coming in too fast, and the darkness did not help the Guard's aim.

Bolter fire blew apart PDF and Cadians as Chaos marines armed with flamers cleared out entire sections of trenches. Other marines armed with meltaguns reduced bunkers into superheated deathtraps with a single shot.

Dtar's Plague marines and Larmath's Berzerkers led the charge, Larmath's warriors dropping in first to begin the massacre, while Dtar's plague marines calmly moved into firing positions to destroy the heavy weapons nests, their mutated bodies absorbing heavy bolter rounds with ease. The Berzerkers cut into the Guardsmen with ease, in the trenches and darkness, the loyalists stood no chance, the traitor Astartes cutting down entire platoons they headed down the trenches, further into the depths of the trenches.

Larmath roared as he mowed down an entire heavy weapons team with his pistol, emptying the magazine, before hacking into a command squad and beheading an officer with a single stroke of his power axe. Chainaxes rose and fell as Guardsmen attacked bravely, while their PDF brethren fled in terror. Despite either bravery they where cut down the howling Berzerkers whose close combat skill could not be stopped.

Sartol dropped into them with the rest of the grand company. Across the sensors of his helm, he spotted the forms of Garlok's own Berzerkers moving in, cutting a deep attack into the unprepared Guard defenses Sartol smiled in anticipation. Now that they had taken out this part of the line, tanks and troops could move unmolested, this meant normal soldiers, for the looted Chimeras that the chaos forces possessed, where sealed against water.

A chaos marine flamed a bunker near him, sending a torrent of fire, roasting the Guardsman manning several missile launchers over the river as they struggled to target the marines.

''My lord, we have disabled this section of the river defenses, move in,'' he voxed. A brief response came back. Sartol looked around at the crimson mess that Larmath's Berzerker's had transformed the trench into.

'Time to move on, we don't want to miss the fun now do we?''

* * *

**Karkov Line**

Receiving Sartol's message, Heru'ur gave the orders. A massive artillery bombardment began all along the Chaos line, to pulverize the Imperial defenses with everything they hat at their disposal. Hundreds of tanks, four grand companies of the Black Legion, along with thousands of vehicles carrying soldiers of the Incardi and the Blackshield for the final offensive, along with tens of thousands of normal Chaos soldiery.

Along the lines dozens of Defilers where readied, along with dozens of berserk Chaos dreadnoughts, released from their chains by adepts of the Dark Mechanicus in order to spearhead the assault.

The Black Legion came in, under the bombardment, in the middle of the night, the Imperial defenses responded, heavy weapons came alive, artillery began to counterfire right back at the Chaos forces But it was not enough, not enough in the darkness. The Chaos force's own counter battery fire was telling, and there where too many vehicles moving across no mans's land to properly target.

Artillery shells blew open Chimeras and Rhinos, spilling open dead Incardi and wounded chaos marines, Predators and Leman Russes of the Black Reapers responded, killing dozens upon dozens of Guardsmen.

The Chaos forces, rather than attacking the entire line, they moved in a single point, where the Karkov river flowed out into an article lake, right on the way to hit the main Imperial defenses.

It was a tried and true tactic. ''Tear out the throat'' of the enemy. The favored tactic used by Warmaster Horus in the days of the great crusade. It was still a favored tactic of his successors.

The Predators and the Land Raiders, the most heavily armored chaos vehicles alongside the Leman Russes and Defilers, crossed the first trenches, guns clearing out entire sections of the Guard defense line. Rhino personal carriers, disgorged squads of chaos marines to take out the first set of trenches. Defilers and Dreadnought ripped into the first line of defensive trenches immense claws tearing apart bunkers, and various heavy weapons killing dozens of Guardsmen.

It was no entirely one-sided, mass las-fire and heavy weapons fire brought down over two dozen chaos marines, three Defilers where destroyed by an enterprising team of Guardsmen with meltaguns.

But they could not hold, within ten minutes they where all dead.

The second wave of chaos marines, and the Incardi came over the shattered remains of the first trenches, following the armored fist that punched a hole through the Guard lines. This wave deployed into the second and third lines, and straight into the heart of the Imperial defense.

Traitor Russes, blew apart bunkers, Land Raiders and Predators cleared up entire trenches before launching forward for the Rhinos and Chimeras to deploy their troops, they where only stopped when the Guard command gave orders for the tanks to come in. Leman Russes dueled with Traitor Russes, Land Raiders and Predators over the grey earth, covered in the black scars of the Guard trenches, shells and las-fire ripped across the surface while the bloody combat waged in the trenches.

In the Guard lines, over thirty thousand Guardsman and three hundred Sisters in a six mile section of the line, had bee attacked by almost seven hundred chaos marines and over twenty thousand Incardi. Over four hundred chaos marines and almost ten thousand Incardi and Blackshield came over the Karkov river, the Guard's lines where pinched off by a pincer attack, coming form a direction that they never even considered.

Sartol's and Garlok's grand companies cut a line straight to the central command bunker right where the Guard high command for the entire Karkov line was being held, over a mile away from the front lines, by ignoring the rest of the trenches, they cut a bloody path through the Guardsmen. Groups of Land Raiders split off to assault the command bunkers as well, along with other groups of tanks moving out to engage additional enemy strongpoints that guarded the way, eliminating them one by way as teams leapfrogged across the way.

Koramak's land raider, along with three others, engaged into front of a trench, missiles and autocannon rounds firing ineffectually at the heavily armored battletanks. A lascannon round blew off of the side sponson of the lead Land Raider as it came into assault position.

The hatch door opened, and a krak missile was fired into the hatch. Smoke engulfed the front of the tank. But after a moment, several large shapes strode out, opening fire at the Guardsmen in the trench. Koramak's terminators, their armor suffering only moderate damage from the anti-tank missile, moved in. The First Blade's own combi-bolter stitched a line of fire across the trench, blowing three Guardsmen to bloody chunks.

The other Land Raiders opened up, disgorging squads of terminators, guns blazing. A pair of combi-meltas where activated, and twin streams of superheated beams reduced a bunker to molten slag. One of Koramaks's own squad opened fire with a heavy flamer, clearing out an entire trench as Koramak leapt in, with agility that belied his terminator-armored bulk, crushing a burning corpse under his feet.

The trench itself was barely wide enough for two terminators to maneuver, but it proved more that enough. Here, the terminators added protection roved to be of an even greater help than power armor in close quarters combat.

Something rumbled, and the form of a Devildog tank appeared, the melta cannon firing into the terminators, the superheated beam proving too much for even the vaunted suit of terminator armor. A single terminator was melted into slag, as another shot blew off the arm of a terminator and fused it's carcass to a nearby section of the trench. Koramak whirled around and dove to the side as the beam passed near him, scorching his armor.

With speed suprising for such a large marine, Koramak threw himself in, servos whirling as his lighting claw tore off the barrel of the meltagun, then, on the hull, the heavy flamer activated, dousing him in fire.

But it was useless, his terminator armor's seals proof against even a point blank burst.

Another terminator appeared, this time armed with a chainfist. It nodded to him and revved the anti-tank weapon, before bringing it's arm back and slamming it into the hull of the tank. The Black legion terminator cut away a large section of the tank, smoke and screams spilled out as Koramak saw the panicking forms of the crew, the First Blade responded by firing his combi-bolter into the confines.

Their screams where silenced.

Koramak turned around, only to see a Hellhound arrive and fire it's cannons, dousing him again. Nearby, their Land Raiders rolled up, lascannons sending out spears of ruby energy into the Hellhound. The high-powered lascannon shots punched through the thin armor of the Hellhound, and ignited it's fuel stacks on the back, causing it to explode in a orange inferno that washed over the trench.

Koramak walked out, armor burnt heavily, but alive. He looked around and jumped back into the trenches, as the Black Legion pushed forward.

* * *

**Sororitas's positions, five hundred feet away.**

Irene's Celestians fired their bolters at the group of Incardi soldiers spilling out of a destroyed Chimera, bolter rounds blowing them apart in tightly controlled burst, punching through their flak armor with ease.

More Chimeras where opening out, the area was a confused mess as Incardi and Guardsmen fought alike, Irene had almost two hundred Sisters scattered among the local area here. Irene looked around, firing off a superheated beam from her inferno pistol, killing an Incardi as he charged forward.

''Slay them!'' she ordered.

Sisters moved across trenches in response. Another Chimera came over as a Sister popped out from a trench and fired a meltagun into the APC, blowing it to pieces. The flaming corpses of more Incardi came over the lip of the trench, hurled by the explosion. A massive Leman Russ Demolisher rumbled by, firing it's cannon, destroying another Incardi Chimera that was rumbling forwards to deploy.

''To the Russ!'' she yelled.

Rapidly the Sisters, moved behind the great tank, as it continued to fire at the Incardi, but as they did so an immense explosion sounded, as a set of lascannon beams tore into the turret of the Russ. There was an explosion and Irene was hurled back, her armor blackened and burnt, but she was alive, the same could not be said for the Celestian next to her, as large piece of shrapnel sticking out of her armored head, through the eyepiece.

The smoke stung her eyes but she dropped back into the trench along with several other sisters to stop a traitor Predator and the dozen large shapes of traitor marines, along with two traitor Hellhounds and more Incardi. Las-rounds tore across the field, going away strips of ceramite from the Sister's plate. Then with a bestial roar the chaos marines opened fire, their bolters beginning to fell Sisters with accurate fire.

Her mind quickly assessed the situation. The Hellhounds where moving forward to flame the Imperials, with the Incardi and the Chaos marines moving forwards, they could have to react quickly.

''Helmets on!'' he ordered.

''Sister Joanna! Flame the Incardi by the trenches! Someone take out the Hellhounds!'' she ordered as the sisters obeyed her commands.

Irene got her Sabbat pattern helm on, just in time as a Hellhound rolled up and opened fire with it's inferno cannon at her position. Warning sighs flashed across her power armor's visor as she staggered back, opening fire with the inferno pistol. The shot blew apart the Hellhound, igniting it's fuel stacks and blowing it apart in a massive roaring inferno, that washed over the attacking Chaos forces, dozens of Incardi where incinerated by the fires, but the chaos marines stayed strong.

The sheer force of the blast was enough to knock Irene and her Celestians back to the ground. Flames licked all around her as she rose up, one of her Celestians, halfway up to rising, pitched backwards, a half-dozen bolter rounds punching through her armor. They where coming, the Chaos astartes. One of them was tossing grenades as the rest advanced, she looked around, the Incardi where gone, with only the traitor Hellhound left. She ran through the smoke and fire, ignoring bolter rounds pattering off her artificer plate.

Irene fired her inferno pistol at a chaos marine, the melta beam punching through he armored chest of the chaos marine. She whirled around. More black shapes where coming through the flames, their gold and red markings disappearing until the entire figure was blackened.

Bolter rounds hit her in the side as he fired again, this time catching the grenade-throwing Chaos marine as he fell back, trying to get out of her range as his brothers fired. He fell back, headless as bolter rounds was furiously exchanged between the two sides. A shrieking crescendo erupted in her ears at the constant hail of bolter fire as the Hellhound next to her exploded from a melta shot, sending more flame washing over the inferno, reigniting it into a new blaze.

Cutting through the fire and smoke, she found herself attacked by a chaos marine who howled at her, his chainsword descending, she blocked with her power sword activating it, sending a blue blaze erupting up it. The sword cut through his chainsword, ripping through the metal as she shot him point blank with her melta pistol, blowing off his upper half, melting it into slag. Snarling she kicked away the corpse and stumbled through the smoke, her armor's auto-senses struggling to pierce the flames.

She jumped out of a blaze, a Chaos marine turned upon her. Firing rounds at point blank, her artificer armor easily turned aside the shots as she slashed through his chestplate and across the arms, slashing through both his hearts.

A third chaos marine died from her power sword as she engaged him in a fierce duel, chainsword and power blade whipping around, until she found an opening and decapitated him with two hacks of the blade.

All around her, more and more Sisters where coming, the surviving chaos marines blew apart Sisters with bolters and cut them apart with chainswords, but the Sisters pressured on their attack. Massed bolter took out the rest of the Chaos marines, while the Sororitas flamers incinerated the shrieking Incardi. Sister Mira's squad was foremost coming up the trench, her power sword, cutting down the last fleeing Incardi.

''Thank you,'' Irene said.

Mira gestured into the distance. ''It's good to see you again Canoness, we've been holding well,'' she stated.

''Any report from the Guard?'' Irene asked.

Mira shook her head. ''No,''

Irene stopped away from the blazing inferno. ''Let's get out of here, this place is wrecked, we need to reinforce the main trench net,'' she commanded.

* * *

**Heru'ur's Executors-400 meters away**

Seven Land Raiders crossed the shell-blasted terrain, gold trimmed behemoths festooned with spikes, on which multiple body parts where impaled. Heads, hands, ears, and legs where all present. The largest had an entire series of helmets and heads, each of a different race, four massive heads of ork warbosses, three elder skulls, six marine helmets, a hollow tau skull, and several tyranid skulls.

Behind them was over two dozen Rhinos, Vindicators and Predators. Massive Chaos vindicators blasted huge siege shells into bunkers and gunnery positions, eliminating them one by one for the chaos assault. Two Leman Russes moved to respond, as well as several Hellhounds, lying in front of the Chaos battlegroup was several hundred Guardsmen and almost two hundred Sororitas commanded by Priscalla.

Predators and Vindicators blasted away dozens of Guardsmen as the Land Raiders deployed, firing their own weapons, laying down a crimson hail of fire into the enemy, causing them to keep their heads down. In the Land Raider, seated at the head of the transport space, was Heru'ur with four other Executors, all of them in the daemonic half-light of the cramped troop carrying area of the Raider.

Explosions sounded from outside and the tank shook as shell impacts and missiles hit it. But the armor plating on the ancient war machine still headed strong. A cruel-sounding burst of static burst over the vox-com of the tank, informing the passnegers of the time to come out and exit. The assault door opened and the terminators headed out.

They had deployed in front of a heavy bolter nest, streams of bolt rounds impacting their thick terminator armor ineffectually along with storms of lasbolts. The Executors replied, disciplined volleys of combi-bolter and a heavy flamer burst coming right back and incinerating the team. The smell of cooked meat wafted through the air as the terminator armor whined and hummed as the Executors strode forward, dropping into the trench, lighting claws and power maces tearing apart and crushing Guardsmen.

Heru'ur held his daemon axe, the weapon blazing with warp power as he clove apart a screaming Guardsman with blinding speed, bayonets stabbed out to meet him, but the Chaos lord turned them aside with incredible skill. His combi-bolter coughed shells into more bodies as the Executors slaughtered Guardsmen after Guardsmen in the trenches as they head down. More and more terminator squads where disembarking as the Land Raiders headed over into the trenches.

The heavy battle tanks continued onwards, weapons blazing, the crewmembers targeting more Imperial strongpoints. The rhinos came next, debussing more chaos marines to join the battle.

The trench was a thing of blood and smoke, as Heru'ur's daemonic sight from his left eye, easily pieced the smoke. Ahead he saw bright soul-pulses, those of the Sororitas, rushing into firing positions to meet the Executors. Grenades flew and bolter fire came hammering at the Executors and the chaos marine squads behind Heru'ur's group, but it was useless, the thick armor of the Executor's shielding the others from the blasts, striding forward despite the firepower of the Sisters.

A multi-melta finally slew an Executor, the superheated beam striking the marine as it advanced around the corner, combi-bolter spitting shells at the power armored Sisters, tearing away chunks of ceramite. Dark energy crackled around the terminator, holding the beam back for several seconds, until a second melta shot overloaded whatever dark force enhanced the terminator's refractor field and melted the Chaos elite into slag.

More and more fire sounded at the Executors as Heru'ur rounded the corner, moving up quickly to join his bodyguard elite as they closed with the Sisters. About thirty of them where coming down the trench, to face two dozen Chaos marines and terminators.

''Move, now,'' Heru'ur commanded.

His bodyguard responded, moving aside, one of them triggered his combi-plasma, firing two shots that blew off the head of another Sister, before tearing through the bolter of another one, and through her side. Heru'ur's axe flared to life with daemonic energy, before he came in, beheading a pair of Sisters with blinding speed, before reversing the strike and cutting a Sisters from crown to crotch. Nothing could counter his ancient skill.

The daemon weapon was a crimson blur, as blood flowed through the air like streams into the axe, sucked from the life force of the Sisters, A Sororitas rushed at him with a power sword, but the axe blocked it contemptuously. Heru'ur lashed out and kicked her in the stomach, sending her smashing into the wall with incredible force, even for a astartes., he decapitated her with one smooth blow, sidestepping a chainsword slash, with a speed that belied his bulk.

A Sister with a melta fired it at Heru'ur at close range. Running up and squeezing the trigger, with a might hissing noise, the beam hit the halo of black energy surrounding the Chaos lord with a sharp crack, like thunder. The beam was engulfed in a storm of dark energies as the fields around Heru'ur neutralized whatever protected the chaos lord, the Sister with the chainsword attacked again.

However she was impaled halfway into her strike, by a set of lighting claws from one of the Executors who had come behind Heru'ur, who gave a barely perceptible nod before he cut the meltagun Sister in half.

Fresh gore was hungrily consumed by the Daemon axe as more and more chaos marines dropped into the trench, firing their bolters. Several flamers from both sides sounded, a great whooshing-hissing noise that covered the area. Through the flames, Heru'ur hacked his way through sister after Sister, his Executors following right into the heart of the Imperial defenses as hundreds of Guardsmen, Sisters and Chaos marines fight in the three hundred yard stretch of trenches.

A chaos marine champion, with blazing fire spouting from carved daemon heads on his backpack, landed in the trench, his power sword pointing straight down to impale a Sororitas. The disruptive field of the blade carved down from head to crotch, the sheer force of the blow carving through the Sister's entire body, more Chaos marines landed, chainblades whirling as they hacked into power armor.

Massed bolter fire fired point blank, without concern for fire discipline, cutting down three chaos marines the sheer amount of shells blowing them apart, a meltagun blew a molten hole in the midsection of another chaos marine as the Sister's counterattacked.

Heru'ur, through the fire and smoke, spotted a Sister wielding a power rapier leading the charge, his daemonic eye quickly spotted her armor markings, more ornate than the rest of his forces. He cut down the struggling Sister in front of him and charged towards her silently, two of his Executors coming at her. In the middle of the flame and fighting the two met, rapier clashed with axe.

She shouted a battlecry and pressed on. But Heru'ur defended with exquisite skill honed by ten millennia of warfare. His mind quickly recognized her as a Preceptor in the Sororitas, what order he could not say.

The duel last for six seconds, but it seemed like an entirety to he combatants.

The Sister attacked with strength and rage, but Heru'ur's blade was stronger and he was far more skilled at the art of bladework than she, his axe blazed crimson before he the blade in her torso. Her body shuddered as an ugly sucking noise sounded, the axe draining all of her blood, The Chaos lord wrenched it free, blood following like red streamers into the axe as he brought it about again and again.

Priscalla'a body lay, withered and drained of blood, on the ground as the battle pressed on.

* * *

**Imperial command trenches**

Almost mile away, a different battle was taking place.

Situated seventy feet underground, the command bunker of the Imperial high command, the one that held the most important leaders of the PDF and some guard officers, was under attack. Situated that far underground, it was guarded by a company of Cadian Kasrkin, sent as a courtesy by the 184th regiment, along with a detachment of PDF elite bodyguard troopers.

A chaos marine dropped from a hail of autocannon rounds, and Morgord dove forward, his possessed brothers coming behind him, a deep sudden feeling came over him as his daemonic symbiote manifested.

The trench was sloping down, a long, dark hallway, with sections cut into the sides where a clever defender could pop in and out in order to fire upon invaders and be protected from return fire, further side tunnel ran from there.

Sartol's company had arrived with great speed, the Imperials, in their arrogance, had stayed at the bunker, believing it to be too far underground and too well protected behind the river to be assaulted in force.

They where reaping their arrogance.

Rapidly the Chaos marines encountered the surface trenches. Sartol sent in Morgord and his possessed brethren in addition to Dtar's plague marines to clear out the underground as soon as they could. They where certainly proving to be adept for the task, Morgord and his brothers accounted for all of the perimeter forces with minimal loss, of the enemy they had encountered mostly PDF troopers so far.

His right arm shifted into a set of black claws, with long blade-like talons almost a foot long, that warped into existence as each digit deformed and mutated into a new shape commanded by the daemonic symbiote's power. His other arm transmuted into a large black shield-like object, which he held over his body as soon as he spotted an autocannon emplacement built into the ceiling. His power armor and enhanced condition could take the rounds, but enough autocannon shells could seriously wound or kill him.

Behind him, his brothers did the same, transfiguring one arm into a shield and the other into claws, each with alternating limbs in place. They lashed out with their talons, ripping apart Guardsmen as they followed Morgord's lead. Running down thirty meters, his shield slowly being blown away by auto-rounds, Morgord finished decapitating a Guardsman with a single pass, he shifted his right limb into a long, sword like appendage.

Advancing under the autocannon emplacement, he thrust up, the razor-sharp blade, enhanced by his own daemonic powers, tore through the concrete casing and sliced the barrel of the autocannon in half with a small explosion, he yanked his limb away as the autocannon was finished.

Turing around, he looked to his sides, to each side there was a long tunnel, stretching back, his witch sight easily pierced the darkness as the Imperials shut off light after light, trying to mask the position of their commander's He snorted. They had no indication of his other sensory abilities. Rapidly, the daemon within him spotted the terrified souls of their commanders, barking a command, he and his brothers headed down the right path.

Las rounds came to him as he raised his shield in front of him, but these ones blew off chunks of the black shield, even as his protective appendage reformed from the earlier damage.

Here, he spotted them more clearly, forty meters away at the closed entrance to the command room. Stormtroopers, Cadian Kasrkin in carapace armor and armed with hellguns, firing at him. His sword limb transmuted into a black whip like limb as he lashed out, the tentacle stretching as he put on a bit of speed, his power armor's servos whirring in response.

The razor tipped tentacle whipped into the chests of the stormtroopers, shredding the arms of the Kasrkin and whipping across their chests, dragging it's barbed edge through their carapace armor. Using this as a distraction, the other possessed leapt into the surviving Kasrkin, multiple hellbeams blew a possessed back, while a plasma gun took off an arm, but the rest of the chaos marines where coming in, ripping them apart

Charging his way through the melee, Morgords's witch sight peered through the walls to see over a dozen Kasrkin and a dozen more PDF troopers along with the huddled groups of the loyalist officers in their bunker chamber, just a few meters beyond.

He cut into the Imperials, slicing apart Kasrkin with his black sword-arm, cutting them apart with brutal skill, slashing through joints in their armor, lopping off limbs and heads with inhuman ease. A possessed formed it's fists into large hammer like protrusions and pounded in the ceramite doors, each massive strike denting the thick walls as two other joined him, muscles swelling horribly with unholy power from their symbiotes.

With a might tearing sound, the door came apart flying away, immediately a storm of lasfire tore into the chaos marines, Hotshot rounds hit one, three rounds ripping away most of the arm of a chaos marine, while four more shots blew out his skull. Staggering, the possessed marine dropped dead as Morgord and four other leapt into the room, their hands changing into a variety of claws, spikes and swords to butcher the loyalists.

A possessed marine pounced on a set of PDF troopers, five guardsmen died in as many second's before a plasma shot tore through the chaos marine's chest blowing out his stomach. The wounded possessed turned and roared at the Kasrkin officer who fired the shot at him and moved towards him with blinding speed, but a second shot finished him off, however, unfortunately Morgord was behind him and he used the opportunity to move in and behead the officer before a third shot could be fired.

Three great tables dominated the bunker, along with a row of vox-casters into the wall, slaved to a master data servitor. Other data feeds and information stations were present, all of the along with their own slave-servitors. Lasrounds cut down the servitors in the crossfire, as the Chaos marines used their daemon-enhanced speed to close in with the Guardsmen rapidly. One shifted his arms, so that they now resembled fleshy nozzles.

Great gouts of violet warp fire poured out from the possessed's arms, scorching the incinerating Kaskrin and officer alike, as his brothers cut down the Guardsmen around the tables.

Flesh-turned claws sliced through upturned chairs and data-table alike, as the officers fired their weapons along with the Stormtrooper elite, using either hellguns taken form the Kasrkin or their laspistols.

But it was too late, they where already among them.

Morgord spotted a warrior-brother losing a arm to melta shot, the superheated beam melting his left armor into slag, the possessed marine simply howled and crushed the skull of a general before several hell-rounds tore through his skull. Moving rapidly, Morgord leapt over an upturned table at the meltagunner, who was starting to point his weapon up. Several las rounds struck his body, some of the overcharged hotshots, tearing through his chestplate.

Those shots would have slowed down a normal Astartes. But Morgord was not a normal astartes by any stretch, unhindered, he continued his leap and sank his claws into the throat of the meltagunner.

Spinning around he decapitated a colonel, his right arm shifting back into a black sword, made from ceramite, skin and bone, as he dived into the Guardsmen, leaping past an exploding grenade and into the slaughter.

In less than two minutes the commanders of the Imperial Guard and PDF forces at the Karkov line where all dead. Morgord and his daemonkin feasted on their corpses as the rest of the chaos marines pressed on the surface.


End file.
